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i-cant-sing · 3 years ago

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Yandere RE8: TRP Part 4

Part 1 is here.

Part 2 is here.

Part 3 is here.

Part 5 is here.

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

"Uhh... hello?"

You looked at the woman standing in the stairs. She was wearing a dark veil that matched the rest of her outfit- oh shit, that's a funeral outfit.

I really did pick a bad time to come here, didn't I? She's in mourning, she sees an intruder, and her day went from bad to worst. Yep, she's gonna kill me.

You took one look at the woman and then at all the possible exits: the doors- no, they'd be too heavy to move and what if they're locked? The window- but I'd have to jump out and just because it looks cool in movies to jump through glass, doesn't mean it'll work, Y/n.

So, the only option was to eliminate the threat. Or maybe... defuse it.

"This is your doll, right?" You asked, pointing at the doll, judging by the lace designs on both of their dresses. The woman didn't reply. "It looks like its been... used a lot. To be honest, she's very different than most dolls I've seen, definitely a lot more spookier." You nervously giggled, hoping she didn't mind. "But... she looks like she's been loved. A lot. Despite being broken from a lot of places, someone still took their time to fix her." You smiled sadly, remembering your own doll that Mia had ripped. "Wish I had someone like that. To sew up the wounds and fix them."You mumbled, not really sure if you were talking about your doll or yourself.

"Your doll, she's- she's very pretty. My sister would've liked her." You began. "Which is why I'm here. My family, we were in an accident- I know it was wrong of me to come here without permission, but I need to find my sister, Rose and my father, Ethan." You took a step closer. "They both of have blonde hair. Rose, my sister, she's just 6 months old. She was dressed in a baby pink onesie, bundled up in a blanket. My father, Ethan, he's about this tall and has big blue eyes. I think he was wearing a jacket, with blue denim jeans. H-have you seen them?" You asked, eyes full of hope and voice laced with eagerness.

Please, please let her have seen them. God, please.

Unsurprisingly, the woman didn't reply, but she did turn her head towards the left window. You didn't know whether she was telling you to get out of her house or signalling that they are out there, but you knew you had to leave.

Nodding, you slowly walked towards the window, your heart beating faster as you prayed that this wasn't some sort of trap, hoping she wouldn't attack you from behind because that would be like... really shitty.

But you left the house unharmed, and without looking back at the window because you didn't want to jinx it, you walked towards the forrest once again, thankful that the sun had finally came out.

Where are you guys?

You had been walking for a couple of hours now, the sun had been a bit warmer today, which was good since you hated the snow that surrounded you now. You looked at the map, tracing the path to your new destination. The Salvatore reservoir. It seemed like it would take you a day's journey to get there, and you sure as hell weren't seeing any lake in sight.

God, when will this nightmare end?

You decided to sit on a stone and take some much needed rest. Your feet ached from all the walking, and your calves were cramping. You rolled your head, popping it from the side, before taking off the rifle that had been weighing down, stretching out your arms. Digging through the little back pack you bought from Duke, you pulled out a thermos of coffee and twinkie. You don't know how or where he got it, but Duke had filled your bag with a couple of snacks; saying its for his loyal customer.

So, here you sat, in the middle of the snowy woods, eating a twinkie and drinking a lukewarm coffee. Both didn't taste good, but they're gonna keep you alive so, no complaining.

After drinking the coffee, you rested your head against a tree, recalling last nights events as you waited for the caffeine to kick in.

You tried to make sense of what happened when you got... locked in the basement. You thought you had forgotten about her, Angel. Guess not.

Wait- didn't that lady lock me in the basement? Maybe, she didn't look very hostile, her creepy doll looked scarier than she did.

You laughed at the irony. You always made fun of the horror movies where the family would become so attached to the most horrifying doll, and you'd scream at their stupidity, And yet here you were, falling for the cliche as you found comfort in that creepy doll.

Man, I'm really losing it here.

You sighed, closing your eyes as you tried to come up with the next plan. But the warm coffee had lulled you right to sleep, which was dangerous but you were too tired to care.

Just for a couple of minutes...

You woke up to the sound of growling and heavy steps. And as soon as you opened your eyes, you knew you had definitely slept for far longer than a few minutes. But that was not of concern at the moment. No, it was the source of the growling that had woken you up.

Just about 40 feet away from you were lycans. Plural. Not one, not two, but 5 lycans, and one of them was a really big one.

You held your breath as you watched them wander around; they hadn't spotted you yet, and if you stayed quiet, you hoped they would just go away.

Stilling yourself as much as you could, you watched them with wide eyes. One of them started to walk in your direction, it wasn't looking at you, which meant that it hadn't seen you, but he would if he kept on walking this way.

God, I know we haven't been on good terms, but like c'mon, you gotta give me a break. Please, I love you? Come on, you know this is not how I want to go.

You sent a silent prayer, and perhaps it worked, since the lycan suddenly turned the other way, joining its pack as they started walking deeper into the woods.

Slowly, you began to gather up your things, silently shoving them in your bag, one eye on the lycans and the other one making sure that you don't accidentally drop something that'd cause noise.

Fortunately, you didn't. You swung the bag over your shoulder, and took a step forward, careful not to step on any twigs.

Maybe God did love me. All that time in church-

THWACK!

You jumped back as a huge sheet of snow fell from the trees in front of you. You whipped your head towards the monsters and they all had stopped dead in their tracks. Slowly, one of them turned and if they hadn't heard the snow fall, they'd definitely heard the way your heart was about to burst out of your chest. Then, it growled.

Motherfucker.

You pulled out your gun just as the two of them began running your way. With a quick jump to the side, you dodged them and shot them two times each. Hearing your gun fire, the other two began running your way too, while the larger one stayed behind as it watched. This time, as you shot one of them, the other managed to kick you in the chest hard, throwing you against the rock. Luckily, you didn't hit your head, as you rolled and shot it dead.

Spitting out the blood, you looked back at the last lycan who had already started running your way. You began loading up your gun with trembling hands, but just as you aimed, the lycan took a giant leap and knocked the gun out of your hand.

Fuck.

The giant grabbed you by your neck, lifting you up high before throwing you across the ground. You wheezed, scrambling up to your feet as you began running away from it, its heavy steps following you. It roared angrily behind you, and that only made you ignore the burning pain in your chest as you ran faster.

But of course, God had decided to make you live a cliche horror movie, because you tripped over a fucking branch, making you fall on your stomach. You flipped over instantly, and saw your nightmare come true as the lycan jumped on you.

On pure reflex, you punched it square in the face, which you doubted hurt it more than it hurt you, if anything, the monster was momentarily perplexed, but that was enough for you to slip from under it.

But you were only able to take a few steps away when it suddenly grabbed you by your neck and lifted you up again, snarling as it began opening its mouth, revealing its razor-sharp teeth at you.

God, if you're hearing this, I'm converting to atheism because I did not need this today.

Looking at the horrifying lycan, you prayed one last time before you were eaten by it. Surprisingly, your life did not flash before your eyes, which you were kinda grateful for because you did not need to relive that before your death.

But that moment didn't came. No, what came were familiar moans of pain, and then the sound of a drill, followed by blood splattering on your face as the lycan was sliced vertically from the head to the toe by the aforementioned drill.

The lycan fell to the ground, revealing the pair of soldats that killed them and behind them a smirking Heisenberg, who rested against a tree, tipping his hat at you.

You were far too shocked to say anything, and after a few seconds, the man walked over to you, blocking the view of his monstrous creations just mutilating the lycans.

"So... that was a bit traumatising." He started, chuckling at your stunned face. "You okay, kid?"

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck-

"Yeah." You took his hand, and he helped you up. You groaned at the pain, touching the tender side around the chest where the lycan had hit you. Yeah, you probably broke a rib.

Heisenberg helped you sit down on a tree stump. "Hmm, that bastard kicked you hard didn't it." Wait- "But that was a phenomenal punch you threw at it. Nearly made me burst out laughing."

"You were watching? Why the fuck didn't you come in before!"

He shrugged. "I just wanted to see if you could really handle yourself- which you were pretty good at, but then you lost your gun and it was kinda an unfair match from there on." He pulled out some pills from his coat. "i was just passing by when I saw those lycans moving away. Thats when I pushed the tree which made snow sheet fall and you know the rest from there on."

Your eyes went wide. "You did that on purpose? What the shit, Heisenberg-?! Fuck." You doubled over in pain, clutching your ribs, heaving.

"Shh, stay still, kid. Here, take these. They'll help with the pain." You eyed the bottle before popping two in your mouth. Hey, if he wanted me dead, he wouldn't have saved me from the lycan. "I just wanted to see if you were worth the trouble, and as it turns out, you are."

"You didn't have to almost kill me to see that. And now I've lost my gun. And I don't have any money to buy a new one. I doubt Duke gives freebies." You huffed out.

Heisenberg rolled his eyes. "God, you sure do whine a lot. Here-" He dropped a tiny pouch in your lap. "There's some coins in there. That should be enough to buy you a new gun. And for fucks sake, get a gun with more rounds! You don't have time to be loading a gun mid battle." He huffed. "So, where are you going now?"

You rolled your head from side to side. "Well, I went to the Beneviento house. Didn't find Ethan or Rose there. Now, I'm going to the lake."

"The lake? Huh, well if you survived Donna, then Moreau should be a piece of cake. You got the map? Let me show you the short cut, it's not far from here." You gave him the map and he showed you the directions.

"Where are you going then?"

"Mother Miranda called. Don't worry, I'll keep our meeting a secret." He then nodded at you. "Alright, I'm off now."

"Wait!" Your voice stopped him. "I don't know when I'll see Duke again. And I don't have gun, so what if another pack of lycans come?"

Heisenberg slumped his shoulders as he let out an annoyed sigh. "Fine. I gotta do everything by myself." He dog whistled and one of the soldats stopped maiming the lycan and ran to Heisenberg. "From now on, you're gonna listen to her."The soldat looked at you and nodded. "If she tells you to kill, you kill. If she tells you to die, you die. Follow her around and keep her safe." The soldat nodded. Then Heisenberg turned to you. "He's already dead, so don't worry about throwing him in danger. Oh and also, just take him into the sun every once in a while so that his engine can recharge. You'll know when he needs the sun."

You were baffled. "Wait, Heisenberg- how the- what the hell am I supposed to do with him?"

"Figure it out, kid. Think of him as a guard dog."

You looked at the soldat then at Heisenberg's retreating form, then back at the soldat.

"So..." The soldat stared at you. "You got a name?"

"Handsome." You nodded to yourself as you trudged, using the soldat's arm to support yourself. "That's what I'm gonna call you. Handsome. What do you think?"

The soldat was wearing a metal contraption over its eyes, so you couldn't really tell what it was feeling.

"Well, you don't seem to have any complaints, so from now on, you'll respond to the name "Handsome". Do you understand?"

The soldat nodded.

You laughed. God, the pain meds were either making me stupid or everything else funnier.

You looked at the map again. Just a couple of more minutes and then a right turn. And then you should see the lake- god, this map was confusing as hell.

"So..." you wondered what you should ask the cyborg. Oh right. "You seen Ethan? Blonde man, crazy big eyes. Or a baby, Rose?" The man shook his head no.

Sigh. What else could I ask him? What about how did he die? No, what if that's triggering? I can't handle a Terminator right now. And I don't think I should ask him about his past or anything that'll cause him to have a existential crisis. Ah! I've got it!

"Hey, how do you see?"

The soldat looks down at you for a few seconds then points at his metal contraption.

Wait- is that sarcasm?

You scoff. "Of course, you see with your eyes! I meant, with the whole metal thingy covering them, how do you- oh, there's this vision specs in them."

You smiled. "Hey, you're kinda like Cyclops, yknow-" you were cut off as Handsome suddenly pushed you to the ground, turning on his drill.

"Wait, shit- you don't have to be Cyclops! We can talk this out-" but Handsome was focusing on something else, and that's when you saw it. Two lycans.

Handsome ran and easily maimed them to pieces, I mean, you had to look away from the horrific scene midway.

The soldat returned five minutes later, covered in blood. He extended his hand and you reluctantly took it, letting him support you as you began walking again, your heart still beating like crazy.

But you calmed down when you finally reached the lake, the setting sun gave serene feel to the entire reservoir. You inhaled deeply before looking at Handsome. "Lets go down there." You pointed at the lake.

You were both sitting at the wooden broadwalk, your legs hanging off the ledge. You looked at the water, it wasn't crystal clear, but you could see some fishes swimming around, so at least it wasn't dangerous to life. You looked at Handsome, then at his drill and you realised he was still covered in blood. "Lets get you cleaned up, hm?" You said, pulling out a rag from your bag and dipping it in the cold water below. You began with cleaning up his drill, then dipping the rag back in cold water and cleaning his chest and his other arm.

"Good job back there, Handsome."You smiled as Handsome nodded. "Heisenberg was right, you are kinda like a dog. Hmm, I wonder if..." You tested your theory as you petted him on the head. "Good job, Handsome!" But the soldat only tilted its head in confusion.

"Hmm, perhaps not." You cupped the cold water in your hands and washed your own face, You looked at your reflection in the water. "You wanna go for a swim? I don't mind." Handsome shook his head. "Yeah, I'm not a fan of swimming either."

Handsome stared at you. You scoffed. "Oh so you pretend you don't understand what I say, but you want to hear the story? Fine, but I'm only telling you because it might be important later."

You both stared at the water as you began your story. "Well, when I was 15, I had snuck out of the house to go to a party. It was at this rich girl's house and I knew she didn't like me, but I was surprised when she had invited me to her place. Yes, a red flag I should've seen from miles ago, but I was young and dumb and desperate to climb the highschool social hierarchy." You chuckled. "Anyways, long story short, one of the guys there pushed me into the pool because I don't know if they thought it was funny to see me drown? By some luck, I managed to grab onto the pool ledge and pull myself up. I immediately left the party, embarrassed and cold and on the verge of breaking down. Then on the way back home, there was this car following me and then some weirdo catcalled me and tried to get me in his car. Now, scared for my life because I watched a lot of Criminal Minds, I ran all the way home, praying that he leaves me alone. I think he stopped when he saw a Range Rover following him, but I don't know. I just rushed back home." You sighed. "You know what happened next? I bursted through the front door, slamming it shut and I turn around to see my dad in the living room, looking surprised to see me. He stood up and looked me up and down and then said, "Y/n? You're drenched completely. And you're messing up the floor. You know what? Mia's in the bathroom right now, why don't you go upstairs and I'll clean up here. You know how she gets when there's water on the wood." And I was just so shocked, that I didn't say anything and went back upstairs. Once I was in the shower, that's when I broke down crying. I almost drowned, almost got kidnapped and my father was worried about me messing up the wooden floor? Hell, he didn't even ask me why I was coming home at midnight." Your tears fell into the lake, making small ripples. You chuckled, "God, I always wondered how tired he must've been from work that day to ignore all these visible signs of distress. I always hated his job, you know? They made him work way too much." You looked at Handsome who was looking at the lake. "Anywho, now you know I can't swim so, save me if I fall into this lake, okay?" He nodded.

You guys sat in comfortable silence for a few more minutes before a question popped up in your mind. "Handsome?" He turned his head towards you, only to see a mischievous smile on your face. "Are you seeing someone?" The man turned his back to the lake, making you laugh. "Ahh, so you like someone. Tell me, is it someone from the village?" The man further turned his head away from you in embarrassment. "Oh come on, tell me! Is it a girl?" He nodded reluctantly, making you punch his arm. "You dog! Does she know?" Handsome shook his head, making you smile. "Tell you what? As a payback for saving me back there, I'll help you get her. I'll be your wingman, Handsome, hm?" He nodded a bit enthusiastically.

"We all deserve good things, Handsome. No matter how we look, or what we are, these things don't really define one's self worth. Its our intentions, you know?" Handsome didn't know, but he nodded anyways.

"Good. Now, lets go check out this place. Keep an eye out for Ethan and Rose, okay?" You told him, not knowing someone was already watching the two of you.

So... thought?

What did you guys think about Handsome? I'm gonna post a pic of him soon if you guys want.

Part 5 is here.

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etherrealoblivion · 4 years ago

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Drive Me Insane

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer Reid is always getting on your nerves. Tensions rise and one day, he pulls you into the file room and snaps… just not in the way you think….

A/N: Early-Season-Twelve!Spencer. this is full-on HATE SEX fulfilling this request by @safertokiss and this request by @mggswhore. It’s rough and v sexy and angsty. Gif is mine! Enjoy! <3

tags: smut, penetrative sex, hate sex, enemies to lovers, angry sex.

RATING: EXPLICIT

Words: 4,363

MASTERLIST

You fucking hated him! You HATED him!

“REID!” storming out of the elevator, you headed straight for the desk of the asshole who had pulled the worst prank ever. “What the fuck is this?!” you screamed, slamming your coffee cup down on his desk, the beverage slightly spilling onto his work papers.

“Hey!”

“Don’t you fucking ‘hey’ me!” you were trembling with anger, bouncing on the balls of your feet and trying to ignore the people staring around you. “Explain yourself!”

The little cockfuck put on the most innocent expression you’d ever seen him manage.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, more to the onlookers than you. “Is there a problem?”

“Did you put him up to this? Did you tell him to write that?”

“Write what?”

Huh. He actually looked genuinely confused. But you weren’t buying it. You knew how evil he could be, always teasing you, correcting you, moving your stuff around, pulling pranks. If it weren’t for his stupid, pouty face, you’d slap the look right off of it. Oh, and you were coworkers but that was honestly more of an afterthought.

When it came to Spencer Reid, there was nothing that could stop you from exacting your revenge. Except maybe Unit Chief Emily Prentiss. Who, conveniently, hadn’t arrived yet.

“Don’t bullshit me, Reid! You fucking told the barista downstairs to give me some phony number! What’s the joke? I call it and it’s a phone sex line? A suicide hotline? What?!”

But Spencer simply stared at the cup, mouth dropped open and staring at the ten neatly written digits gracing the side of your coffee cup, a little heart to the side of them.

Clearing his throat, he finally spoke, “I didn’t… I didn’t do this, Y/N.”

A refute to that was on the tip of your tongue but he suddenly looked at you and you noticed a slight tint to his cheeks that for some reason, had you believing him.

“Wait…. You mean…?”

“Yep.” He stood suddenly, chair flying out from behind him with the force with which he stood. “Looks like you’ve got an admirer. Excuse me,” he grunted, storming off down the hall, leaving you thoroughly perplexed.

“What…. What just happened?”

Tara approached you, placing a light hand on your shoulder.

“You got a dude’s number and thought it was a prank by Reid. Happens to the best of us.”

Well, yeah, that was rather obvious. You were more referring to the fact that he had stormed off once he came to the same realization.

But, as always, before you could think for too long, Garcia sent out a mass text alerting you to a new case. Your contemplation would have to wait for another time.

“Maybe he just didn’t want anyone to see him?”

The team was gathered around a roundtable in the dingy police office of Wamego, Kansas, discussing why the unsub was dumping the bodies so far on the outskirts of town.

“No, that doesn’t make sense,” Reid blurted, gesturing toward a map of the area. “There are more than enough areas to hide a body within the town’s limits. Plus, he dumped in the middle of the day so being seen isn’t his issue, he can hide easily in plain sight. The edge of town somehow connects to his comfort zo…. What?”

He trailed off once he noticed the grumpy look on your face. It wasn’t like you could help it! He was always refuting every little thing you said and constantly interrupting everyone.

“Well, Reid, if he’s so interested in the edge of town, why are all his victims abducted from the town square?”

Spencer stepped closer to you, eyes narrowing and lips turning downward.

“Maybe, Y/N,” he bit back, “he’s not picking these women at random, but targeting those he sees that look so obviously vulnerable. His end goal is to dominate them.”

“Seriously? Alexa Wells was a blue belt in karate and Tala Williams took a regular self-defense class. There was nothing vulnerable about these women at all!”

“If you weren’t so busy fretting over their physical capabilities maybe you would have noticed, they both possess a petite stature, making them more susceptible to attack.”

He was towering over you and staring at you with anger in his eyes. You, too, were having to fight back the urge to scream at him.

“So, what, you’re saying everyone with a small stature is asking to be dominated!”

“Nope, just you.”

He looked more shocked at his words than you did, taking a step back and glancing around the room for a moment before referring back to the map.

“I’m-I’m saying that the-the victims were all-all small—of-of small stature and that’s a-that’s a connection. Excuse me.”

And he bustled out of the room, leaving behind an audience of your coworkers whose gaze fell on you. Uncomfortable with the weight of their eyes on you, you excused yourself as politely as you could despite the anger and confusion rising in your throat. You didn’t return until you managed to compose yourself, and by then, the team had a new lead and Reid’s outburst was forgotten.

But not by you.

If the word ‘hate’ was a face, to you, it’d be Reid’s. To be fair, his face did possess a very… slappable quality. But, of course, you’d never act on that impulse. He never could quite push you to that edge. But, oh god, he got close sometimes.

Jesus. It was nearly 6:00 AM and you’d gotten a text about fifteen minutes ago from Garcia, summoning you in. Now, sitting in the briefing room, your thoughts had begun to wander into very vulnerable territory.

“Y/N?”

His voice grated your ears like sandpaper, the perfect tool to snap you out of your reverie. Why the hell did he have to arrive so goddamn early?

“Yes, Reid?” you replied, putting on the most bored voice you could manage, not even bothering to spare him a glance as he sat down in the seat immediately next to you, shrugging off his shoulder bag.

“Why are you here so early?”

You looked at him, startled by the question. Who the hell was he to ask you that? He came in early all the time and you never bothered him about it.

“None of your business,” you snorted, glancing down at your phone, trying to get back to reading your article. But with Reid in the room, it was hopeless.

“Jeez. Okay. I was just asking a question. You know, when someone is so defensive it actually has a lot to do with their social life. Usually, they aren’t getting enough mental stimulation outside of work and in rare cases, it attributes directly to whether or not they’ve been receiving enough pleasurable intercourse.”

He nodded curtly as he finished, his own gaze dropping to a regular manilla folder, not even taking in your expression of pure shock. He must’ve found your silence startling enough because soon after, he looked up at you, crooking an eyebrow.

“What?” Quickly, his expression shifted to a mix of understanding and his cheeks went red so quickly. “Oh! I wasn’t saying that-that-that you weren’t… that you aren’t… I mean, not that you are… I just mean that….”

“What, you’re saying I’m not getting fucked properly?”

His mouth dropped open just as Rossi and Alvez entered, conversing loudly enough to miss your snarky comment. Clearly, though, they could detect the charged atmosphere in the room.

“Are we interrupting?” Rossi, the bastard, asked coolly, taking a seat as Luke did the same.

“Nope,” you smirked as more of the team entered. “Not at all.”

Although there was a pressing case to focus on, you couldn’t help but glance at Reid a little more often than usual.

“Alvez, Lewis, you two talk to the parents. Reid, Y/L/N, go to the BDSM shop and see what they can tell us about the whip.”

The urge to roll your eyes and groan was almost too great. Being in a car with Reid for too long gave you hives and as you typed the address into your phone, you glared at your phone for displaying the time to get there as a whole half hour. In a car. Alone. With Reid.

Strangely enough, it had been about a week or so since he’d made any snarky comments to you, seemingly preferring to keep his distance. You wondered what being stuck in a car together would be like. Hopefully quiet. Silent, ideally.

You really shouldn’t have raised your expectations.

“So, the whip is actually a pretty common item so if he paid with cash, it’s likely there won’t be much of a trail. If you wanna wait in the car, I understand, I can just run in and get the info.”

Huh?

“Why would I wait in the car?” That might’ve been the first genuine question you’d ever asked him excluding when you’d first met and asked his name. Since then, it had been a whirlwind of sarcasm and rhetoric.

“Y/N, it’s a sex shop,” he said, a slight glance over to you as his fingers tightened on the steering wheel slightly.

“And?”

“Well… I mean, you don’t wanna go in there.”

“Says who? Reid, it’s part of the job. I’m not scared of sex like you are.”

That got him stuttering, huffing and puffing, and trying to backtrack so fast he might as well have thrown the car in reverse. But you had arrived before you knew it, settling into an empty spot right in front of the store.

“I-I’m not s-scared of… of… I’m not scared of that!”

Unbuckling your seatbelt, a surge of confidence rushed through you as you exited the car, quickly quipping, “Oh, I can tell judging by how easy it is for you to talk about. It’s okay, Reid. Not everyone can handle dominating someone. Certainly not someone as submissive as yourself.”

As you entered the shop, you could feel his tension next to you the whole time you questioned the woman at the front desk. But there was something… off about it. It was like he wasn’t nervous being in the shop, he had no issue making eye-contact with the witness, speaking calmly and coolly, and not avoiding looking at the various sex toys scattered about. No, he was nervous about something else. Something you had said?

But it wasn’t like you didn’t tease him ruthlessly and regularly anyway. Had you struck a nerve? What was different?

Maybe he just didn’t like talking about sex stuff with you. It made sense, he hated your guts. Still…. There was something.

Something that didn’t get brought back up again until a week later, when the two of you were sitting at your desks during a lunch break with everyone gathered around, conversing quietly. Then Alvez had to go and stir the pot like the little pot-stirrer he was.

“Well, I’d have killed to see how Reid acts in a sex shop. Hey, Y/L/N, please tell me there were lots of dildos,” he joked, earning a laugh from the majority and a groan from Reid.

“Actually, he was much less freaked out than I expected. I assume it’s because he didn’t know what half the stuff in there was.”

Sparing a glance at Reid, you were startled to find he wasn’t looking away in embarrassment, but staring straight at you, glaring daggers.

The laughter bubbling up inside your throat at the teasing immediately subsided, replaced with a sudden rush of… fear? No, that can’t be right. You weren’t scared of Spencer Reid. The guy was harmless. Right?

“Can I talk to you privately, Y/N?” he hadn’t said it like a question you could say no to, rising from his seat and storming off to the file room.

Resistance was futile, and in this case, unnecessary, because whatever Reid had to say to you in that room, you could easily turn against him. Ricocheting his remarks came so naturally sometimes you didn’t even notice you were doing it.

You entered the filing room, fully expecting to see Reid shuffling papers and mumbling, working up the courage to yell at you.

Which is why you didn’t expect to be shoved up against the door as it slammed shut behind you, Reid pinning his hands on either side of your head, holding your faces inches apart. Your breath left and so did the words you’d been rehearsing on the short walk to the small room. You felt your mouth drop open and your gaze unintentionally fell to his lips. It took you a minute to realize he’d been talking. Desperately trying to play back what he’d said, you felt your earlier anger rise back up in your throat.

“What’s your problem with me? Huh?” he was unrelentingly forcing you to meet his eyes. “Why are you always coming after me for the stuff I say? Jesus, you’d think you’d show me a little compassion sometimes, but nooooo. Little miss princess just gets off so good making the team punching bag feel like a piece of shit.”

At his words, you finally found your voice.

“Me? You’re always the one fucking correcting me and bossing me around! You pick fights with me all the goddamn time!”

“Name one time.”

“Hmm, let me see, the time you told Garcia you needed her to hack my phone for a case! The time you fucking told me I was asking to be dominated. Just last week you assumed I didn’t wanna go into a sex shop because, what, I’m too innocent? Or maybe you just want to think of me that way and you hate that it’s not true. Hey, how about the time you pulled me into the file room and pinned me up against the door like a goddamn butterfly?”

You were getting to him, you could tell. His face had slackened but his gaze was much stronger, scrutinizing all of your features carefully.

“You know what else? You’re the only one on the team that calls me by my first name. And I have no idea why! Is it just to bother me or do you actually just not care about giving me any indicators that you respect me? I’ve been a profiler for ten years now and I still can’t read you for shit! You’re so fucking hot and cold you give me freezer burn! Christ, Reid. Sometimes I can’t tell whether you wanna fight me or fuck me!”

Three seconds. That was the time it took you to register that his lips were suddenly on yours, biting and nipping, tongue fighting to get into your mouth.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the FUCK!

Okay, listen… Normally, if someone you hated with all your heart pressed you up against a door and started to make out with you with the force of a thousand suns, you’d do what any sane person would do; shove them off of you and kick them in the junk.

But Spencer Reid drove you fucking insane.

So, when you suddenly found your hands grabbing his face and pulling him in closer to you, opening your mouth enough to let him devour you whole, it wasn’t all that much of a rational decision. In fact, a whole series of irrational decisions happened in quick succession.

He was pressing you against the door so harshly, it felt safe to let your feet leave the ground, legs coiling around his hips and gasping into his mouth as you felt his length brush your inner thigh. Fuck, he was hard. Oh god. The pressure must have caused your mind to really comprehend what in the fuck was happening here.

Spencer Reid was kissing you up against a wall at work. But that wasn’t even the weird part. The weird part was... you actually liked it.

So, pushing down the thoughts of what a terrible idea this was, your hands gripped the lapel of his suit jacket, frantically pushing it off of his shoulders. As it hit the floor, he groaned, seemingly realizing where you wanted things to go.

He pulled back, tearing open the buttons of your blouse, words falling from his beautifully swollen lips.

“You’re such a goddamn tease. All the time. Wearing these tight little tops and expecting me to not rip it off of you?” he tsked, pulling open the top to reveal your bra, stopping in his tracks at the sight.

He was taking too long. Too fucking long.

Your hands reached for his belt, hurriedly sliding the leather from the strap, snapping it off of his pants and pushing them down.

“Don’t act like you didn’t want this to happen,” you snarked as he picked you up and plopped you down on the small metal table in the center of the room, brushing aside all the papers atop it. Your back hitting the cool metal made you hiss but you went on, “I bet you brought me in here because you knew if we were alone together for more than five seconds, you’d snap. You wanted to fuck me, Reid.”

You were trying to sound like you still had some wits about you, but the truth was, they’d all flown out the window the moment his lips met yours. Those fucking lips.

He didn’t bother denying your claims, opting to roughly pull down your skirt and underwear, one strong hand tightly holding your bare thigh the whole time. Those fucking hands.

“Maybe,” when he spoke again, his voice had dropped two octaves, a register you’d never heard before that sent a flicker of pure delight through your veins, “you’re projecting, Y/N. I think you’ve wanted me to hold you down and fuck you this whole time. You’ve wanted me to shut that pretty little princess mouth up in any and every way possible so you rattle off teases and insults to make up for the fact that you’re just a little whore who is begging to be fucked.”

You heard your moan echo around the room before you even noticed you’d opened your mouth. Quickly, but not quickly enough, his huge hand snapped over your lips, stopping any further sounds from escaping. His other hand dug into his pants pocket and you could hear the crinkle of tin as he rolled on a condom.

All you heard before the world disappeared was, “Shut the fuck up,” as he slid into you in one perfect thrust, his left hand roughly digging into your hip as he grunted with the effort of holding back. But that wasn’t what you wanted. That wasn’t the point of this. And you told him just that.

“Reid,” you groaned through his hand and he relinquished his hold, “fucking fuck me!”

Apparently, you didn’t need to tell him twice.

He didn’t even bother trying to ease you into it, roughly grabbing your hips and pulling you against him with each sharp thrust. It took all you had to keep from screaming as a wonderful mix of pain and pleasure pushed you closer to the edge. Jesus, you were close to coming already after barely a minute.

It was like you said, Spencer Reid drove you fucking insane.

Still, you weren’t quite ready to submit to him completely. There was still quite a bit of fight left in you.

“I bet you’re loving this. Thinking you’re finally in charge of me. I got news for you, Reid,” grabbing his shoulders, you pulled him down so you could whisper in his ear, relishing in the hiss he emitted at the change in angle. “I’m more than you can handle.”

Saying he went wild would be an understatement. He somehow managed to lift you all the way up off of the table, spin you around, and reenter you sharply within the span of two seconds. This time, you couldn’t stop the pathetic mewl that left your throat at the feeling of him inside of you.

Actually, what probably got you was the horrible, dirty things he was whispering in your ear unrelentingly as he pounded into you, one hand on your hip and the other yanking your hair back roughly.

“You think I don’t know how to handle a spoiled little princess? Tell me, who’s the one moaning and writhing underneath me? Huh? Oh, can you not answer because I’ve got my cock buried in you?” He slipped the hand that was in your hair down to your cheeks, squeezing and forcing them into a pucker. “Answer me.”

You could feel how close you were but his thrusts were so slow and patient now. He wasn’t nearly as close as you were. If you were doing this, you were making him come first. You needed to keep some power. You did decide to relinquish a bit of control to him.

“P-Please, Reid….” you whispered, smiling to yourself as he responded exactly as you’d expected.

“Please, what?”

He was moving so slowly now, barely giving you any relief, slowly pushing in the tip only to pull out hastily, leaving you grinding back on his for more.

“Please… please tell me you don’t actually believe that,” you snarked, pleased with the way he suddenly froze, seemingly not expecting to hear that from you.

Your shock, however, didn’t last long. Because after a very pregnant pause, you heard the rush of air come from behind you. Because you felt a sharp, sudden, stinging pain on your left asscheek. Because Spencer Reid had just fucking spanked you.

“Ahh!” you yelped as the heat flared up your body as he sped up his thrusts, entering you deeper and deeper each time.

“I think someone needs to teach you a lesson about what happens when you mouth off to the wrong person. This,” he added with a particularly sharp thrust, “is your punishment, princess. You actually thought I couldn’t handle dominating a little brat like you? You’re the one begging to be filled up like a little whore.”

“Reid,” you let the name slip, feeling yourself slowly giving in more and more the further he pushed you.

“Say my fucking name, princess.”

“Ah! Spe– fuck! Reid!” you keened, happily letting your body give in to the feeling of being totally and utterly used by him, barely noticing almost calling him his first name.

“Tell me, princess, do you even know how tight your little cunt is bouncing back on my cock? I bet I feel so big inside you. I guess you finally got what you needed: to be fucked properly. You’re lucky that I’m the one to do it. I know just how to handle you.”

You groaned as he snaked a hand around you to circle your clit relentlessly, barely managing enough energy to squeak, “I hate you.”

There was anger behind the words, but not honesty. And Spencer knew. It was clear as he leaned in to whisper in your ear a final time, he also knew exactly how to push you over the edge.

“Prove it.”

And in an instant, your climax hit you, washing over you like a waterfall, feeling your walls clench and tighten around Reid’s cock. Drowning in the pleasure of your orgasm, you didn’t even notice the way he grunted as he spilled himself inside of you.

You definitely didn’t notice the way he planted soft kisses to your shoulder blades as he pulled out, whispering small strings of praise. Or the way he stroked your thigh as he carefully pulled your underwear back up. You definitely didn’t notice that.

You hadn’t quite regained your energy, but you knew you had to stand up. Every muscle in your body, however, begged you to collapse to the floor. Luckily, Spencer caught you, prompting you to look up at him, trying not to show the hope that was so obviously shimmering in your eyes.

Strangely, he seemed to be looking at you in a similar sense. Not exactly hopeful but… worried?

“You okay?”

You nodded weakly, breaking the eye-contact and pulling away from him, scurrying to put your clothes back on.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.”

You knew you sounded curt but you just couldn’t bring yourself to express emotion right now. It was stupid, you knew, but in the heat of the moment, you had felt… connected to him. In a purely animalistic way, surely. In a ‘fuck me so hard you impregnate me’ way.

Pushing the fact that that thought got you a little excited to the back of your mind, you turned back to Reid who had also fully redressed. He was shifting on his feet, avoiding looking at you fully.

“Well, now we know what to do next time we butt heads,” you joked, smiling softly to diffuse the tension.

He laughed but you could tell it was superficial. There was something the two of you weren’t saying and you were both waiting for the other to say first.

“We should probably get back out there, huh?”

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered, coughing and doing a ‘ladies first’ motion towards the door.

“Thanks,” you muttered, opening the door slightly, then glancing back at Reid, seeing him looking at you with the words neither of you would say.

“Hey, Spencer?”

He tried not to let his shock show but he did a horrible job. You couldn’t blame him though, it was the first time you’d ever called him by his first name.

“Y-yeah?”

“I… I don’t hate you.”

It wasn’t much, but he smiled liked it was everything. Maybe, in your own special way, it was.

“I don’t hate you, too.”

Giving him a little nod of your head, there was no way you could suppress the joyous smile that lit up your face as you exited the file room. Your coworkers would surely be suspicious, but you didn’t want to think about that right now. Spencer was the only thing on your mind the whole rest of the day and you were sure he’d stay there well into the week.

After all, Spencer Reid drove you fucking insane. Now, you knew, in more ways than one.

TO BE ADDED TO TAGLIST

(sorry if the tags aren’t working! i’ve been having some trouble)

@whollytaciturn @101donuts @thegingerfairchild @safertokiss @cielo1984 @thupidalthea @darkacademiacherry @matthewreid@aloha-ashley-taylor@justchiara-02@spnobsessedmemes @sweet-darlin@dreamy-reid @brokenanxiety @thatsonezesty13 @psychedelic-phase @beautifulalmondstudentduck@awhollandx@baddreamsandbrokenhearts@simp-for-mgg @swagdaddycam@gejatume@url-under-construction@krymson182@addie5264 @pinkdiamond1016 @gublergirls @georgia4287 @thineeminnie @untainted-memories @cm-is-kinda-cool @le-vie-en-amour1 @happyiidiot @wechillingcoop @blankets-for-bees @stewie-castle @dolanfivsosxox

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid gifs #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #matthew gray gubler #fanfic #fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #fandom #etherrealoblivion #smut #season twelve reid #reid #spencer

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snackhobi · 4 years ago

Text

pairing: jungkook x reader / word count: 13.4k / genre: fluff + comedy (I suppose)

summary: you work the night shift in a supermarket. and now your crush, aka the cutest boy in the world, aka the guy you’ve been thirsting after for months, aka jeon jungkook, works the night shift too. les geddit

warnings: this fic is sfw BUT there is cursing/explicit language—the reader is thirsty af, just SO thirsty, seriously the thirstiest, but other than that this fic is pretty soft

a/n: thank you to my darling friend and beta reader @hobi-gif, without whom this would have remained an unpublished fic I just wrote for funsies, and also to @yeojaa for reading this through and enjoying this terrible self indulgence of mine, you’re both queens

Why is it that all the interesting things happen whenever you’re not at work? Like the time you'd been off for one (1) night so that you could move into your new place, so you hadn't witnessed the full on brawl between a customer and the security guard right before the store shut. Or the other time when you were twenty minutes late because of road closures and you’d missed all the free doughnuts—Yoongi hadn’t even saved you one, opting to give it to his crush instead, even though Jimin wasn’t even night shift.

(Yoongi was a Judas, betraying you all because of a little thirst. Snake.)

(Okay, sure, you're friends with Jimin too, but still.)

Anyway. You’re here almost all weeks of the year, and the few times you’re not, that’s when things get interesting. Working in any sort of retail job is boring at best, especially when the store is shut overnight (customers during the day were awful but at least they provided an ever rotating cast of varying characters that could provide amusing anecdotes to add to your repertoire), and it’s downright frustrating whenever you miss out on the few variations to your usually monotonous nights just because you happened to miss it.

Yoongi is also The Worst at keeping you updated. He has little to no interest in gossip and keeps himself firmly out of unnecessary interpersonal drama, staying uninvolved by being entirely unapproachable and blanking people whenever they try to talk to him. You keep out of it too, but in a different way— you don’t get involved in drama because everyone likes you. You’re personable and social, almost to a clownish degree, somehow treading the line between being Nice and Firm, so people simultaneously like you while also being wary of annoying you.

Either way. When you’re not there, Yoongi doesn’t go out of his way to find out any developments, so you’re always left floundering to catch up with whatever’s gone on so that you can keep your position as Liked-By-All-Sides as secure.

So, with all of this in mind, when he says that nothing interesting has happened in the two weeks since you’ve been off, you’re understandably sceptical, raising an eyebrow at him from where you’re reclining in his passenger seat. The entire supermarket could have burned down while he’d been working and Yoongi would probably say of the event afterwards—if pressed—that it had ‘been a little hotter than usual’.

(At least Jimin indulges you with petty gossip. You’re certain he’d let you know about any new developments, but he’s not on a late shift tonight, much to the disappointment of both yourself and Yoongi—although he won't admit it.)

You hadn’t sensed any ripples in the Force when you’d stepped into the supermarket. Everything looked the same, all the way down to the slightly wonky sign on the front display that was trying to persuade customers to buy the new lines of overpriced olives and antipasti, and nothing felt any different on your journey up to the locker rooms; the poster asking everyone to book their holiday before the 26th June 2001 was still up, as it should be; the sight of Yoongi walking in the direction of the staff canteen as you went to dump your stuff in your locker was as familiar as normal. You were usually good at sniffing out change, but everything had passed your smell check and so you let your guard down, bursting into the break room with your usual aplomb.

That’s one thing about night shift that people don’t usually realise. Because there aren’t customers around, you can yell up and down the shop floor as much as you like (it’s usually faster than walking around to find someone) and swear or be inappropriate in ways that wouldn’t fly during the day (like bowling products across the floor instead of walking up to the shelf and putting them down). You don’t swear or yell, really, but the amount of time you’ve spent on nights has increased your overall volume and altered your verbal filter, so once you’ve kicked the door open, what comes out of your mouth is as follows:

“Wassup everyone? Ya girl is back from her time off and is absolutely RARING to go! I know you all missed me, but please, no flash photography,” you simper. You hear Yoongi snort into his coffee from his seat on the sofa, directly under the sign that says ‘No Food Or Drink Allowed On The Sofas’ alongside a picture of a dancing hot dog with a massive red X across it.

Most of your coworkers are a lot older than you—young people don’t tend to work overnight—so they don’t match your level of energy, but they’re still pleased to see you nonetheless, a little chorus of hellos greeting you when you walk into the room. You shoot finger guns at them, ending with an overly theatrical wink at Taehyung, wiggling your fingers in a wave at the boy as he grins at you through his mouthful of food (he’s not night shift but he finishes a lot of his shifts late so you're on friendly terms).

When you flop down next to Yoongi he wordlessly hands you a coffee. You hiss a little at the contact of the hot mug against your skin—he’s holding onto the handle, and you’re quick to accept it from him so you don’t burn yourself—and peer down at the hot liquid before taking a small drink.

You’re mid-sip when your eyes flick up from the mug and you immediately splutter. You cough and hack, eyes filling with tears as you try to swallow the noises down to no avail; you sound distressed enough that even Yoongi gets concerned, thumping you on the back as you make a noise akin to a cat wheezing out a hairball.

“Yoongi.” Your voice is pained as you look out of the corner of your eye at the boy sitting next to you. “I thought you said nothing interesting had happened while I was off?”

Yoongi looks perplexed. “Nothing did,” he says. Somehow you resist the overwhelming urge to pour your coffee all over him.

“Then explain to me exactly why the Muscle Boy from morning shift who works on fruit and veg is sat over there in a night shift uniform,” you hiss.

“Oh, yeah.” Yoongi sounds entirely disinterested. “He moved on to nights the first week you were off.”

So not only has the hitherto-unreachable object of your affections moved on to your shift—great, you weren't mentally prepared for that at all—he'd apparently witnessed your unnecessarily theatrical entrance, as well as your subsequent near death experience via coffee. You wish that the near death experience had, in fact, been a full death experience; your final moments may have been undignified but at least you’d have gone out while looking at a pretty face and not have to live with the embarrassment afterwards, knowing that Jeon Jungkook had witnessed you spluttering coffee down your chin.

Normally your Jungkook-radar (Kookiedar? You’ll have to work on the name for it) is faultless, flawless, sensitive to his exact location at all times—but he was never there at night. You only saw him in the mornings, catching glimpses of him on your way out, lifting heavy crates of bananas or potatoes onto the displays. But he’s here, now, sat on his own table, alone, away from the other workers.

While you hadn’t spotted him before, what with how he’s sequestered himself alone, from your vantage point now? You can clearly see him, and you know that he would have had full view of you from the moment you’d stepped into the room.

He's on night shift now. With you.

“Yoongi, buddy?”

“Yeah?”

“If I asked you to kill me, would you do it?”

“No." His answer is immediate, but before you can be warmed by the fact he doesn’t wish for your imminent death, he continues: “I’d have to find someone else to reduce food for me, and I can’t go back to buying full priced noodles after this long.”

“I’ll reduce your head from your body,” you threaten, even though it makes no sense. Yoongi doesn’t react outwardly to this threat but you would wager anything that he was quivering in his boots, even though he’s doing a very good job of calmly sipping at his coffee. Ahh, Yoongi, always the master of the pokerface, despite the fact he must be terrified.

Anyway. You’re getting distracted. Basically, snake Yoongi had snaked on you and hadn’t told you about Jungkook transferring to night shift, like the snake he was. Yoongi being the snake, that is, not Jungkook. He wasn’t a snake. Sure, you’d never spoken to him in all the months you’d seen him and knew next to nothing about him but no one could be a snake when they looked that innocent. Besides, you’d seen him help customers, smiling at the old ladies who asked for him to reach for specific bits of fruit from higher shelves, or carrying their shopping for them, or—

Argh, you were getting distracted again. Essentially he was a hot, muscular angel who hadn’t had your existence on his own radar until approximately five minutes ago, and his first impression of you must be that you are an absolute clown. A buffoon. And, okay, maybe you are, but you usually only let people onto that fact after knowing them for at least a day or two.

He’d looked startled when you’d made eye contact with him across the canteen, tearing his eyes away from you the second you’d tried to inhale coffee instead of ingesting it. You’re grateful that he’s resolutely kept his gaze away, absorbed by something on his phone instead, but he must have heard your desperate wheezing from across the room. Even if you’ve managed to cough away the coffee in your lungs by now it doesn’t detract from the overall embarrassment that threatens to swallow you up.

Beside you, Yoongi continues to drink his coffee like a normal human being. He’s oblivious to your inner turmoil. Of course your crush had moved to night shift when you were on holiday. Of course you’d missed that. Why wouldn’t you? You were a snail and God was salting you. What had you done to deserve such torment?

“I can’t believe you didn’t think a new person was something I’d at least like to be made aware of,” you mutter waspishly. “Especially as he’s around our age! Since Hobi left we haven’t had anyone on shift who isn’t at least a decade older than us, Yoons.”

As is tradition, Yoongi says: “A moment of silence for our boy Hobi.” You both shut your eyes and tilt your heads forward as you mourn your fallen brother. (He wasn’t dead, he’d just moved to a different job a few months ago, although you both still see him on a weekly basis.) And then Yoongi continues: “I guess I didn’t think it was important.”

“Do you have a single wrinkle on your brain, Yoongi? Huh? Or is it completely smooth up there? Why wouldn’t a new night shift worker be something I’d want to know about?”

“I figured you’d find out eventually anyway.” Yoongi shrugs.

“I hope a stack of bread falls on you,” you say.

You’re glad when it hits 9pm and your manager, Sejin, gets everyone’s attention for the huddle so he can tell everyone where they’re working for the night. You normally don’t pay much attention but this time you’re like a bloodhound on a scent trail, sniffing out what where Jungkook is going to be.

“Jungkook, you’re on the fruit and veg section,” your manager says, and your nostrils flare. Of course. You’re entirely unsurprised when he delegates Jungkook to the fruit and vegetable aisles— it’s what the boy is familiar with, after all.

Most people in the store have areas they’re better at and do the same thing over and over, but you’re a bit of a wildcard, happy to work anywhere, so your own role varies a bit. You’d actually been there longer than Sejin, who’s a fairly new manager; he’d latched desperately onto you when he realised that you a) had been trained on pretty much everything and b) were also a pretty decent worker, on the whole, and so he allows you more freedom than he might afford other people.

So, because of this, you know that if you asked then he’d happily move you to a different area of the store, but you don't actually know where you want to go. You’re torn between hoping that you’re in a section near Jungkook (so you can ogle him) or the opposite of the store (so you’re saved any further shame due to the fact that you’re an absolute dunderhead, just an absolute embarrassment, why were you allowed outside?), but then Sejin tells you your job for the night and you can’t help a groan from escaping you.

“It’s my first shift back after my holiday and you want me to reduce all night?”

You can’t help but sound a little whiny. Reducing is so boring. Looking through everything on the shelf and scanning it and then having to stick the reduced labels on them? Over and over and over? For the whole night? Your brain is already shutting down in anticipation for the repetitive monotony. (You have to try to conserve what few brain cells you have left and you're not about to waste them on this.)

Sejin looks genuinely apologetic. “Some day staff called in sick so there weren’t enough people to finish everything. You only have the meat and fish sections to do.”

You’re so distressed at the idea of having to sift through piles of meat that you don’t notice how Jungkook perks up at this, sitting up a little in his seat; if you’d been paying attention you’d realise that the meat and fish area is directly adjacent to fruit and veg, both sections within direct eyesight of each other. Instead you’re remembering the time you’d had a packet of sea bass leak on you and no matter how many times you’d washed your hands, the fishy smell had remained. Eurgh.

“Alright, that’s everything!” Sejin claps his hands together. “Let’s get to work, everyone.”

There’s the usual grumblings and mutterings as people start to make their way out of the canteen and downstairs to start work. You take Yoongi’s mug from him and dump both of your empty cups into the hatch of the canteen, already resigning yourself to a long night of misery and boredom. Why did you choose to work in a supermarket, again?

You dawdle around upstairs for longer than you probably should once everyone’s gone, dreading the fact that you’re going to have to properly introduce yourself to Jungkook. Night shift is very insular and you can assume that no one’s introduced themselves to him or made an effort to be friendly— hence why he's been sitting alone. You’re the one person who works overnight who actually goes out of their way to introduce themselves to any new starters, but you’re fairly certain that if you try to introduce yourself to Jungkook you’ll end up throwing up on him. He’s just so hot that it makes you nervous.

You make a long drawn out ahhhhhhhhhhh noise, letting your frustration out before straightening up and puffing out your chest. It’s fine! You’re fine. You’re a strong, confident, smart night shift worker who’s introduced herself to new people multiple times before. Jungkook is just another person. Sure, he’s the cutest guy you’ve ever seen, but he’s just another person. It’s fine.

It’s not fine.

The second you round the corner to the fruit and veg section on your way to meat and fish, you see Jungkook effortlessly heft a massive crate of grapefruit as if it weighs nothing and you want to pass out. The one time you’d tried to lift a crate like that you’d almost done your back in, but Jungkook just lifts it with ease.

What’s worse is that while you’ve seen him do this before, he’d been wearing a day shift uniform at the time. The day shift uniform is, honestly, pretty ugly, an ugly beige long-sleeve button up with an equally ugly tan tie under an ugly grey apron (but of course Jungkook had still looked radiant in spite of the ugly ensemble he was forced to wear). The night shift uniform isn’t necessarily attractive either, a simple black polo shirt and combat trousers, but unlike the button up, the polo shirt is a t-shirt— and Jungkook’s rolled the already shorter sleeves up so that all of his arm is on display (holy shit he has tattoos). You can see the flex of his muscles in all their glory, the way his biceps bulge as he lifts the crate higher, the veins that run down to his hands, and your mouth floods with saliva.

“Arm,” you say.

“Pardon?” Jungkook looks up, confused, and then startles when he sees you.

“Um, nothing!” you stutter. There’s a loose lock of hair hanging across his forehead and you stare at that rather than looking into his eyes. You’d probably burst into flames if you made eye contact right now. “I just wanted to, uh, introduce myself? I know you’ve been working nights for a few weeks now so I’m kind of late, but I was on holiday. I’m Y/n.”

“I know,” Jungkook says, and then he sees how your eyes widen and he scrabbles to explain. “Uh, Sejin said it during the meeting.” He swallows.

You cough. Of course. There’s no other reason Jungkook would have known your name without you telling him; you sincerely doubt he’d sleuthed your name out via the rotas pinned on the board, much as you had with him. (You swear you’re not a stalker, he’s just really cute, okay?)

“I’m Jungkook,” he finishes, laughing awkwardly.

“I guessed,” you say, pointing at his name badge like that’s the reason you know it. He stares down at his chest, as if he’d forgotten that he had it pinned there, and although you'd genuinely been looking at the badge, you suddenly notice that you can see the definition of his pecs even with the thick fabric of the polo shirt. You want to pass out again. You need to divert your attention to something else, stat, your brain scrambling for something to say next. “You know, you’re the only person on night shift who’s wearing a badge. No one else does.”

You wince. Great. Now you sound like an asshole. Nice going, idiot.

Jungkook glances away from his badge to your finger, which is still pointing. He’s staring at your nail polish. Even though no one cares what the night shift gets up to, nail polish is technically against the rules and you wonder if he’s about to say something derogatory—you’d deserve it, you were just kind of a dick to him—when he smiles instead. “I like your nails.”

“O-oh,” you stutter, surprised. They’re nothing special, the colour a little chipped in places, but you’re still flattered by how genuine Jungkook’s compliment sounds. “Um. Thanks.” And because you have a habit of responding to compliments with one of your own, you say: "I really like your tattoos. The flowers are beautiful."

Jungkook looks stunned and doesn't respond. You spend a few moments staring at each other before Sejin rounds the corner, and you both abruptly turn away so it doesn’t look like you’re just standing around and talking instead of working (although that is, in fact, what you’re doing). You hustle over to the meat section, grabbing packs of bacon and pretending to look at the dates, even though you have no idea what date it is. No thoughts head full of Jungkook.

Over the years, you’ve mastered the art of Quick Glancing™. While to anyone watching you it would seem as though you’re absorbed in your work, sifting through food to check if it’s going out of date, you’re actually looking at Jungkook more often than not. Whenever it seems like he might catch you, your eyes dart back to whatever cut of meat you’re holding at the time—a box of liver, eww, slimy—but you spend the majority of the time watching him move around. You can’t help but wonder if he’d lift you as easily as those crates and have to suppress a full body shiver. Down, girl.

Yoongi appears like clockwork the second it hits midnight, leaning against the fridge as you stare at a pack of chicken wings. “Coffee time.”

“Oh, thank God.” You straighten up, unceremoniously dropping the chicken wings onto the shelf. “Caffeine, I need caffeine, get me the caffeine.”

You get the caffeine. You and Yoongi always go back to the canteen at midnight for coffee—even though you’re technically not meant to—and bring your mugs downstairs—something else you’re also not meant to do. You drink your coffee between looking at the packets of food on the shelf, sifting through trays of chicken breasts and stickering whatever's due to go out of date as Yoongi idles around near you, peering at everything you’ve slapped a reduced label on. He clicks his tongue at a lacklustre reduction, unimpressed at how little money has been slashed off the price, and honestly? Mood.

“Don’t you have bread to put out?”

“Finished it. I’m waiting for the next delivery.” Yoongi yawns, but then his eyes suddenly narrow as he looks in the direction of fruit and veg. “Your new little friend keeps looking at us. I think he might be a narc.”

“Huh? Oh, Jungkook?” You look up from the chicken thighs. Jungkook is far out of earshot but clearly visible, hunched over a shelf as he starts to furiously organise some courgettes. “Nah, I don’t think he’s a narc. Besides, what’s Sejin going to do? Fire us? We get coffee all the time and he's never said anything about it before.”

“Yeah, but Jungkook doesn’t know that.” Yoongi scowls. He sounds suspicious. “Hm. I’m going to go back to bread, but keep an eye on that one.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. “Got it,” you say with a salute.

Yoongi wanders off but not before throwing Jungkook a sharp look, which the boy doesn’t notice, resolutely staring at the courgettes. Seems like he’s really intent on making them look neat, which you think is kind of unnecessary, but whatever. It's kind of cute actually.

You don’t think Jungkook is a snitch, but you do have to admit it’s maybe a little weird how often you seem to catch him watching you, though he’s very quick to look away. Your suspicions grow somewhat when he ends up in the canteen at the same time as you, eating your lunch a lot later than everyone else. You like the peace and quiet when the room is almost empty.

Yoongi normally has lunch with you, but today he’d had to eat earlier because Sejin had asked him to help unload the delivery lorry, so you’re alone in the room with Jungkook. Although he sits on the table farthest away from you, it’s maybe a bit strange that he’s up there when you are. Like, sure, you do appreciate the fact that you can gawk at him a little bit more, but maybe Yoongi is right about him being a narc?

Nah. You’re probably just being paranoid. Jungkook is clearly introverted, not talking to the other guys working on the fruit and veg section, so he probably came up at the quietest time of day (/night) so he could avoid everyone. You can understand that.

Your lunch is almost over and you’re in the middle of making yourself and Yoongi another cup of coffee to take downstairs when Jungkook suddenly appears at your shoulder. You yelp in surprise when you notice him there, scattering coffee granules across the counter instead of dropping them in the cup like you’d meant to, clutching your chest in shock.

“Oh, God, sorry,” he apologises, and he fumbles as he scoops the granules into his palm to clear them up—and then he just stands there with a handful of instant coffee as he looks at you. You’re still clutching your heart. “Uh. I was wondering, do you bring your own coffee in?”

“Yes,” you say, cagey, unsure what he wants. You notice that he’s unintentionally cornered you against the counter, and now that your earlier shock has ebbed away, you can’t help but notice your height difference when he’s this close to you. “Can’t get coffee overnight otherwise. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, uh, I just didn’t realise we were allowed to?” Jungkook sounds awkward, unsure. “I would have brought my own in if I’d known.”

You stare at him for a second. Yoongi would kill you if he saw what you did next, but you just end up turning around to grab another mug and dump a spoonful of coffee into it. “Do you have milk or sugar?”

“Huh?”

“Do you have milk or sugar? In your coffee?” You repeat carefully, tapping a spoon against the third mug, trying to tamp down the blush that’s threatening to appear on your cheeks when you glance at Jungkook over your shoulder. “You want one, right?”

“Oh.” He goes a little lax with surprise, apparently not realising that he’s done so until he drops a few bits of coffee on the floor and then lifts his hand again—you can see where the granules that are directly in contact with his skin have started to dissolve a little, sticky. The pile of coffee looks so small in his big hands. You want to eat out of his palm, as gross as that thought is. “Yeah, milk and sugar, please.”

As he goes to wash the coffee from his hands, you stare at yourself in the reflection of the metal kettle, wondering what the fuck you were doing while also trying to tame your thirst into submission. You never let anyone have your coffee (except Yoongi, obviously, and Hobi, when he’d been here) (a moment of silence for your boy) and you’ve known Jungkook for less than one (1) shift and you’ve already initiated him as part of the Coffee Crew.

Yoongi picks up on this immediately, spotting you and Jungkook reemerging onto the shop floor at the same time, although you peel away to visit your friend in the bread section. “Is that a mug that I saw Jungkook holding?”

“Yeah,” you say with forced casualness, wary of Yoongi’s response. Here we go.

But to your surprise he seems pleased. “He can’t narc on us now that he’s drinking coffee on the shop floor too,” Yoongi says.

“Oh, right! Yeah, that was my plan all along.” You force laughter, as if your pulse hadn’t been racing as you’d watched Jungkook take the first sip from the coffee you’d prepared for him, worried that he wouldn’t like it. You’d wanted to vomit your heart out of chest when he’d given you a small, shy smile and said that it was perfect, as if he wasn’t drinking cheap, crappy instant coffee, which was subpar even when it was good.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows at your fake hyena laughter but decides not to comment on it.

He raises his eyebrows again the next night when he witnesses you preparing coffee for Jungkook firsthand, lining up three mugs at midnight instead of just two, making coffee the way Jungkook likes it. “Once was enough to stop him from double crossing us, I think,” Yoongi says.

“I’m making this for him because I want Jungkook to be part of the group,” you say firmly, ignoring the way your hand trembles a little when you say this. Jungkook had waved goodbye to you when he’d spotted you in the morning after your first shift together, and tonight he’d made eye contact when you’d walked into the break room—more quietly than you had the day before—before smiling at you. (You’re constantly torn between wanting to coo at how adorable he is or begging him to bend you over a table, and it’s hard to keep these thoughts from showing on your face whenever you smile at him, but you’re doing a damn good job.)

Yoongi, despite his usual unflappable nature, looks absolutely floored. Even though you’d both spoken to Hoseok from the moment he’d started working with you, it had taken you a few weeks before you’d even offered to get him a drink at midnight, a mutual decision both you and Yoongi had agreed upon. And here you were, inviting Jungkook in without consulting your coworker-turned-best-friend, after one night. (You’re sure Hobi wouldn’t mind, but you feel kind of bad when you think about it and resolve to pay for his lunch when you see him next week.)

Yoongi squints at you as you keep your attention focused on the coffee and so don’t see the realisation settling across his features.

“Oh,” he says once it’s clicked. “You wanna suck his dick.”

You end up scattering coffee across the counter again. At this rate you may as well just pour the granules straight into the bin and cut out the middle man.

“Yeah, you wanna suck his dick,” Yoongi muses, watching as you grouse and clean up the coffee.

“At least when I talk about your crush on Jimin I have the decency to not be crude about it,” you say, jabbing a finger in Yoongi’s direction. He flushes.

“I don’t have a crush on Jimin,” he scowls. You scoff.

“Oh, please, Yoons. You’re not as subtle as you think. If I catch you staring at Jimin’s ass one more time with those googly eyes of yours I’m gonna yarf.” Jimin’s ass, admittedly, is very nice, the awful work trousers somehow flattering on him, but it’s the reverence with which Yoongi looks at it that makes his crush obvious. Amongst plenty of other things. “And you let him have my doughnut! As if that isn’t practically a declaration of marriage!”

“You’re still going on about the doughnut?” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “That happened months ago.”

“It was a limited edition Krispy Kreme doughnut, Yoons!” Your voice has gone shrill. “A motherfucking Kit Kat doughnut! The only reason I didn’t strike you down where you stood is because I fully support your crush on Jimin, even if I think it’s ridiculous you haven’t asked him out already! Anyway,” you say, letting the spoon clatter into the mug. “Whether or not I want to suck Jungkook’s dick, I miss having a third person in this group. Hobi actually laughed at my jokes.”

“I laugh at your jokes when they’re funny.”

“You never laugh at them!”

“I said what I said.”

“I’m going to poison your coffee so Jungkook and I can drink the rest in peace,” you say. “Oh, moment of silence for Hobi, we almost forgot.” The moment of silence lasts for a second, and then you’re pouring the freshly boiled water into the mugs.

“I guess I should talk to Jungkook, then.” Yoongi still sounds suspicious and you glare at him as you stir the coffee.

“If I find out that you’re being mean to him, I will genuinely poison your drink,” you say, lifting the spoon and gesturing with it aggressively enough that a droplet of coffee goes flying off and lands on Yoongi’s face. You have no doubt that Jungkook could snap Yoongi like a twig if he wanted to, but Jungkook seems far too nice for that, and Yoongi can be surprisingly intimidating.

“You won’t poison me.” He wipes the coffee away, unperturbed.

You snort. “I’ll use decaff and I won’t tell you.”

This makes Yoongi’s eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t dare.”

"Watch me.”

With that threat firmly in place, you feel a little better when you hand Jungkook’s coffee to Yoongi to give to him. You’re not near the fruit and vegetable section tonight so you won’t be able to keep a direct eye on them, but you’ll catch up with Yoongi once he’s wandered back over to bread.

You’re starting to feel a bit suspicious at how long Yoongi’s been absent for and so you make your way across the shop floor to see if you can find him. To your infinite surprise you spot both guys near the salads, Yoongi perched on an upturned crate while Jungkook puts watercress onto the shelf, the two of them in deep discussion about something. You feel like you’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone when you see Yoongi genuinely laugh and you back away, unsettled.

When you eat lunch that night, Jungkook sits with you on your table at Yoongi’s behest. It’s still a quiet affair, like normal—you take as many opportunities as you can to sneak glances at Jungkook, surprised at exactly how much food he puts away—but when he offers to make the coffee, you have a hushed conversation with Yoongi while your muscle boy is distracted. You keep your eyes fixed on Jungkook’s back, and it really is unfair how good his shoulder blades look with that black material stretched across them. There’s no point in trying to hide your thirst from Yoongi now that he knows about it so you’re free to stare.

“I thought you said he was a narc,” you whisper, eyes still fixed on Jungkook's back. How is his waist so small? (Lord have mercy on your soul.)

“Nah, Jungkook is okay,” Yoongi replies. In Yoongi-speak this means that he really likes Jungkook and you’re flabbergasted.

You don’t get a chance to say anything else before Jungkook is turning around, proffering your drinks to you with a bright smile—you can see his teeth, and you’ve never wanted to lick someone’s teeth before but apparently the sight of Jungkook’s mouth will do that to you, who would have guessed. It’s been two shifts and you’re already this dehydrated, just dying of thirst, shrivelled up like Spongebob in that episode where he visits Sandy’s dome for the first time. You’re a crusty thirsty sponge and Jungkook is a tall, sexy glass of water.

(You’re so fucking screwed.)

The thing with initiating Jungkook into the Coffee Crew is that you’re faced with the reality of his good looks constantly. Jungkook still doesn’t talk to anyone else, really, but he lights up around Yoongi and yourself, and you start to look forward to seeing those shiny doe eyes of his, the way he perks up whenever he sees you.

Work quickly becomes the highlight of your week, which is something you thought you'd never say, but Jungkook is just too powerful. Everything about him is absolutely fucking devastating, a few examples being:

The night when it’s a little warmer, and he unbuttons all three buttons on his polo shirt—you can see his collarbones and the tiniest bit of his chest, going feral over such a small slip of skin like you’re some sort of Victorian lady who keeps her ankles hidden in public and you’ve never seen bare skin before.

Or when you got caught behind him on the stairs while he’s explaining the difference between meat protein and vegetable protein—you get a wonderful view of his ass, which you take full advantage of (respectfully). You get another look at said ass when he plays a game of pool against Yoongi while you sit on the sofa and watch, Jungkook leaning over the wonky pool table so that he can make a particularly difficult shot, placing his wonderful butt directly into your line of vision.

Or when you notice that even though Jungkook cycles to work, he never seems to smell like sweat, and instead he just smells like fresh clothes, clean linen that’s so potent you can smell him before you see him. But no one smells that much like clean laundry, right? It must be his cologne.

“Jungkook, do you wear cologne?”

Jungkook, to his credit, doesn’t seem surprised at your question and just answers it like he would any other. “No, why?”

“Oh, it’s just that you smell nice? Sort of like whatever 'clean cotton' is apparently meant to smell like. Y’know? Like fresh laundry.”

“I do wash my clothes every day,” he says. “I guess you could call me a bit of a clean freak?”

For some reason, the fact that he smells so nice because of his clothes is just so hot. You want to bury your face in his shirt and just breathe him in, but that would be weird and creepy and invasive. So you don’t do that and instead allow yourself to sniff from a polite distance, olfactory senses working overtime whenever he’s nearby.

(Yoongi finds you uncapping all the detergents down the laundry aisle one night, desperately huffing each type to try and work out which one Jungkook uses. “Jesus Christ,” he says, watching as you take a particularly long drag of whatever Spring Day is—it’s pleasant, whatever it is, but it’s not what you’re looking for. “Are you trying to get high?”

“Smell this,” you say instead, shoving it in his face. He takes a wary sniff, nose crinkling. “This is nice, isn’t it?”

“I guess?” Yoongi seems baffled. “Okay, you’re clearly busy, I’ll tell Sejin to ask someone else to do the job.” You don’t reply, too busy sucking in a lungful of Crystal Snow as Yoongi backs away.)

Jungkook also seems to have this weird knack of appearing whenever you need help lifting or moving something heavy. Normally you hate it when someone steps in to help you, a little offended at the idea that you can’t do something yourself—you've been doing this for long enough that you've developed a technique for things—but when Jungkook does it you don’t feel disrespected at all. He’s just so nice about it.

Like the time when you’re struggling to move an empty wooden pallet and put it on top of a stack of others; not only is it heavy, it's large and unwieldy, too. The last time you’d tried to move one of these you’d ended up hitting it against your shins while also getting a palmful of splinters. You hate these things. Jungkook, however, materialises out of seemingly nowhere and offers you his help. He ends up lifting the thing himself, squatting down to grab it and just tossing it on top of the pile. He does it effortlessly, literally effortlessly, like the pallet weighs nothing to him, and when you ask if he thought it was heavy, he blinks.

“No, not really,” he says. You have to bite the inside of your mouth to stop yourself from screeching.

“You must lift a lot of weights,” you say, weakly, and Jungkook nods.

“I’ve started incorporating weights into my pull up routine recently, too.”

“Oh? Do you, like… tie them to yourself or something? Uh. How heavy are they?”

Jungkook perks up, apparently excited at the opportunity of talking about exercise. “I hold a fifteen kilogram weight in one hand while I do a pull up with the other,” he says.

Your legs feel weak at this mental image and you end up sitting on the stack of pallets as Jungkook starts to tell you about the rest of his workout routine, and when you find out he does kickboxing as well, you almost have to excuse yourself so that you can try and calm down. Instead you grin and bear it, your fingers digging into your thighs in the horniest grip known to man, acting like this is just a normal conversation that is absolutely not affecting you, no sir, no sirree, holy shit you’re going to die.

That night you do have to excuse yourself at lunch when you make a comment on Jungkook’s food, and he says that he needs to keep his calorie count up because he’s bulking at the moment.

“Bulking? Like for abs?” Yoongi asks.

“I already have abs,” Jungkook says dismissively. Your leg jolts under the table and your knee hits the underside of it, sending your empty lunch box almost flying to the floor, and Jungkook and Yoongi look at you in alarm. “Are you alright, Y/n?”

“Bathroom,” you gasp. “I gotta—bathroom. Lady stuff.”

You splash water over your face and run it over your wrists, desperately trying to cool down. You’d suspected he had abs, for multiple reasons, not least of all the fact that whenever he leaned back in his chair the material of his shirt would settle on his stomach in a way that hinted at the shape of the muscles underneath, but to hear him confirm it—like it was nothing—good lord. (Yoongi’s caught you staring at Jungkook’s stomach multiple times when the boy was distracted, but you’re beyond caring. If you have to deal with Yoongi fawning over Jimin then he can put up with you ogling Jungkook.)

When you come back, Yoongi is at the counter making your coffees while Jungkook is still sitting at the table. You slide back into your seat, about as composed as you’re going to get, when Jungkook leans towards you.

“Are you okay?” He looks worried. “I have some heat pads in my locker if, um, you wanted them, if you’re having period pains?” he says, but then he looks unsure. “I don’t know if you’re actually meant to use them on your tummy, though.”

Tummy. You want to squeal at how cute the word is, not to mention the fact that Jungkook doesn’t seem bothered about talking about period related stuff, unlike a lot of guys you’d known. “Oh, uh, no, thanks, Jungkook,” you say, flushing. “That’s really nice of you but I’m alright.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says, although he’s still clearly concerned. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

And that’s the other thing. You still think Jungkook is the hottest person you’ve ever seen, of course, but he’s also so nice. And hardworking. And sweet. And gentle and thoughtful and determined and talented and just—he's just a whole lot of man, really, just so much, too much. Initially you’d been attracted to him based purely on how cute he was, but now that you've actually gotten to know him, your attraction has morphed into a full-on all consuming crush that’s absolutely catastrophic.

Even when you’re not at work, you keep zoning out because you’re thinking about: Jungkook’s arms, Jungkook’s thighs, Jungkook’s face, Jungkook’s personality, or a mix of all of the above. You can’t focus on things when all you can think about is Jungkook.

Jimin, of course, has been kept fully up to date with the situation. You squat behind the bakery counter whenever he’s on a late shift, hiding away from prying eyes so that you can talk to him as he tidies up, although you know he’s making moony eyes at Yoongi, who’ll glance back at him between the shelves of bread.

You groan into your hands from your cross legged position on the floor, sat atop a flattened croissant box, and Jimin pats you sympathetically on the head.

“Jungkook is very cute,” says Jimin. You groan again.

“I want him to raw me,” you say. Yoongi must have been closer than you thought because you hear a noise of disgust from the other side of the counter before the sound of his footsteps moving away. Jimin laughs his tinkly little laugh as you continue to speak. “But I also want him to hold my hand? And I wanna kiss his cute little forehead. And make him breakfast in bed. Ugh. I hate this,” you whine.

Jimin pats your head again. “Why don’t you ask him for coffee?”

You take your head out of your hands and fix him with a pout. “Why don’t you?”

“You know I don’t ask people for coffee, Y/n, I’m the one who gets asked,” Jimin says, and you know he’s projecting his voice so that Yoongi can hear him. You also know that Yoongi is too dense to pick up on this obvious flirtation, even though you can see how Jimin throws a wink in the direction of where Yoongi must be; you don’t turn to look over the counter but you hear the distinct sound of someone walking into a stack of bread and knocking it over, before Yoongi swears. Jimin just looks fond.

“Oh my God, just marry each other already,” you mutter.

“He has to ask me out first,” Jimin says, softly enough that Yoongi can’t hear from where he must be furiously tidying up the bread, if the sound of plastic packaging and low curses are anything to go by. “Seriously, Y/n, it sounds like Jungkook likes you as well. I think you should just go for it.”

You sigh. “Jungkook’s so far out of my league it’s like we’re not even playing the same sport. He’s sinking three pointers while I’m, I don’t know, whacking balls with a croquet mallet,” you mumble.

Jungkook is nice and funny and works out and is hot, so hot, the kind of hot that has people literally stopping to look at him. (You certainly had, the first time you'd spotted him down an aisle, doing a literal double take at how cute he was.) You, meanwhile, are a clown whose sense of humour has been warped by years of niche internet memes, you drink more coffee than is probably medically advisable, and make-up can only take you up to a shaky 6/10 on a very good day. All in all: Not Exactly A Catch.

Jimin clearly disagrees. “Don’t be stupid, Y/n.” He sounds genuinely mad, frowning at you. "If I didn’t like Yoongi I absolutely would have asked you out by now. Jungkook would be lucky to have you, you are a wholeass meal.”

“Yoongi compared me to a slug the other day,” you say. Admittedly it was because he’d knocked on your door when you’d been in the middle of shaving your legs, your skin shining with coconut oil—so the slug slime comment was definitely warranted and hadn’t been an insult—but Jimin’s expression turns murderous, unaware of the context.

“Min Yoongi, you get over here right now,” he hisses. Yoongi is there in seconds. “Did you call Y/n a slug?”

Yoongi’s face looms at you from over the counter. “Should’ve called her a snake instead,” he says, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“Hiss hiss,” you say. “That’s what you get for chatting shit about coconut oil.”

Jimin blinks before his face goes smooth and a look of understanding crosses his features, raising an eyebrow at you. You bat your eyelashes at him innocently.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “I’m going back to the bagels,” he says, but then his voice is gentle when he continues: “Unless you need something else, Jimin?”

“No, thank you, Yoongi.” He smiles at Yoongi, soft and sweet, instantly forgetting about the slug comment.

The two of them look at each other like the rest of the world has ceased to exist and you mime throwing up, but because they’re looking at each other like the rest of the world has ceased to exist, neither of them notice. You hear Yoongi’s footsteps recede and you lift your hands in despair.

“How is it even when I’m having a breakdown over a boy, the two of you manage to be so incredibly gay over each other?”

“It’s a talent,” Jimin says. “Besides, as happy as I am to listen to you, there’s only so many ways you can say I wanna suck Jungkook’s dick so bad, or he’s so adorable, what the fuck, or oh my God, Jungkook is so hot and I’m so thirsty, which are all things you’ve said, verbatim, multiple times.”

“It’s true.” You pout. “You’ve only seen Jungkook from a distance, anyway. He’s even better up close.” The bakery section is the other side of the supermarket, as far away from the fruit and veg section as you can possibly get; Jungkook has a much better work ethic than you and Yoongi and actually stays in his area to work, so he hasn’t met Jimin properly yet.

Jimin’s expression becomes thoughtful. “You know what, that’s true,” he says.

You’re immediately on guard. Jimin is well-meaning and considerate and kind, but he also loves to meddle and has absolutely no shame about it—the second you see that glint in his eyes, you think that maybe you’ve said something you shouldn’t have, but then you notice the time and your eyes widen.

“Oh, shit, I better go pretend to work before Sejin realises I’m missing.” You scrabble to your feet. “If I don’t see you before you go, have a safe drive home, Jimin!”

Jimin’s usually pretty punctual about leaving on time (even if he’ll hang around to talk to Yoongi, ugh). You wander over to the fruit section to help Sejin fill a display stand, and you freeze in the middle of lifting some apples into a paper bag when you spot Jimin talking to Jungkook. Jimin looks coy, Jungkook looks confused, and you? You probably look constipated. Why is Jimin still here?

You only realise that your mouth is open when Jimin spots you and winks, overexaggerated and theatrical. Your mouth snaps shut as Jungkook’s attention turns to whatever he’s winking at. You duck out of sight before he can spot you, scampering down the length of the store before practically throwing your apples at Sejin, who is understandably caught off guard and fails to catch the bag.

“I’ll go get some blueberries for the other shelf from the back room,” you bark in his face, all but running away before he can respond, leaving him surrounded by the escapee apples (escapples?) that are rolling away from him. You skulk around the entrance of the fruit and veg room for a little while, waiting for Jimin to leave via the staff exit—directly across from where you’re standing—but he doesn’t appear and you can only pretend to look for blueberries for so long, eventually returning to Sejin while despondently clutching the trays of berries.

Jungkook doesn’t seem any different when you make your midnight coffee run, and lunch is about as normal as usual. When you mention Jimin, he smiles, saying that it was nice to finally meet him, but other than seemingly slightly distracted—as if deep in thought—that’s it. There’s no hint that Jimin mentioned anything about you at all, least of all your crush—thank God—but you can feel the ripples in the Force. (Or maybe that was all the coffee you were drinking, seriously, maybe you should slow down?) You know that it’s not a coincidence that you’d had yet another meltdown about Jungkook right before Jimin had introduced himself to the object of your affections. You also know that Jimin knows that you know that, utterly shameless as always.

Jimin is on another late shift the next night. You squat behind the bakery counter when it’s unmanned, Jimin going outside to throw away some old baguettes or whatever, and you (metaphorically) pounce on him when he reappears. “Park Jimin.”

Jimin is entirely unsurprised. In fact he even has a box for you to sit on, proffering a flattened piece of porridge packaging; you feel uncomfortable at the idea of sitting on the Quaker Oats guy’s face and flip it over so you can see brown cardboard rather than his weirdly smug expression looking up at you. “Yes?”

“What exactly were you talking to Jungkook about last night?” You peer up at him, attempting to look at least somewhat threatening, but it’s kind of hard when you’re so much lower to the ground than Jimin is right now. Jimin has to look down at you so far that he’s given himself a double chin, but he’s still gorgeous, because of course he is. (He should leave some for the rest of you, jeez.)

“Oh, a lot of things,” Jimin says. “You were right about him being a sweetheart. He’s very nice. I approve.”

“What are you, my dad?” You mutter to yourself, but then: “You didn’t say anything about my crush, did you?”

Jimin is a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them. So when he answers you with a simple “no” you believe him, although you can’t help but still feel a little suspicious. Your gut might be full of coffee more often than not, but she’s also a smart bitch—smarter than your brain for sure—and your gut is telling you that Park Jimin must have done or said something.

“Yoongi is putting the tortillas out, so excuse me if I’m distracted,” Jimin says. The tortilla wraps are on the bottom shelf so Yoongi has to bend over to work them. You make a face of disgust and stand up to leave.

“Fine, me and the Quaker Oats guy will take ourselves elsewhere.” You tuck the flattened box snugly under your arm. “We know when we’re not wanted.”

You feel a little bad later when you put the box into the industrial baler that you have, the machine crushing all of your cardboard flat, saddened that you’ve had to part from your new friend so soon. Bye, Quaker Oats guy.

Jungkook finds you standing in front of the baler with a genuinely sad expression on your face, silent as the machine makes mechanical squealing and wailing noises while it crushes the boxes inside it. “Uh. Is everything okay?” He asks, delicate.

“It will be eventually,” you say solemnly, but then you look away from the baler and immediately brighten, smiling at him. “Did you need me for something?”

Jungkook looks at you for a second and then shakes his head. “I was just out here to get some more stock from the back room,” he says, and you both get back to work, unaware of the glances you steal at each other as you part.

Later that night—well, technically, morning—you see someone you haven’t seen for a while, and you gasp with excitement when you spot him. “Namjoon!” You holler down the aisle, far too loud and energetic at 5am, jogging up to him. “I thought you stopped morning shifts!”

Namjoon is a beautiful tree of a man, tall and long limbed, and probably the nicest person you’ve ever met. You’ve missed his dimples. “I did, but, I’m doing a bit of overtime,” he says, and you can’t help but smile up at him.

You’re so caught up in your laughter, cackling at a story that Namjoon is telling you, that you don’t notice Jungkook spotting you from the other end of the aisle. He circles around a few times, pretending to be straightening up the shelves, but watches as you shuffle closer to Namjoon, your heads practically knocking against each other as you stare intently at something on his phone. Jungkook can’t bear it any longer and starts to walk over. He has no idea what he’s planning to do once he gets there but he’s marching over anyway, and that's when you spot him.

“Jungkook, Jungkook!” You beckon him over—like he wasn’t coming in your direction already—and you sound so excited. “Jungkook, look, puppies!”

Jungkook has no idea who the tall guy is but he’s nice enough to turn his phone towards Jungkook without being asked to. There are multiple puppies tumbling over each other in the video, nosing at each other and flopping around. “I thought a golden retriever would be good for Jin, because he’s never had a dog before,” the tall man says, and you coo.

“They’re so cute! Oh my God, Joon, you should get one of those little bandanas you could tie around their necks, those are adorable,” you squeal. “Ahh, I love dogs so much. Don’t you, Jungkook?” Your eyes are shining as you look up at him, excited.

Jungkook feels like he needs to sit down. “Of course. Who doesn’t?” He says, and you beam at him; he has to dig his fingers into his palms at how cute you are. He desperately turns his attention back to the video, where one of the puppies is nosing at a ball. “Look at them retrieve.”

“Retrieve my heart,” you say, clutching your chest. “Ahh, gosh, Joonie, you’re really living the dream, moving in with your hot boyfriend and getting a dog together.” You’re too busy imagining living in that reality to notice how all the tension leaves Jungkook the second he hears that Namjoon has a boyfriend. Oblivious. “Anyway, you should probably get back to work, I’ve distracted you for long enough. Sorry!”

“No problem.” Namjoon quirks a smile at you, nodding at Jungkook before moving away.

“Ahh, Namjoon is so lucky,” you say wistfully. “He’s so nice though, he deserves it.”

Jungkook is looking at you, curious. “You really get to know everyone, don’t you?”

“Huh?” You blink. “What? Yeah, I guess. Is that weird?”

“No.” Jungkook pauses, and you think that’s all he’s going to say on the matter, but then his mouth opens again. “You’re just so nice to everyone, and you actually pay attention to what they say and remember it. Most of the time when people talk, they don’t actually listen, they’re just waiting for when it’s their turn to talk about themselves, but you don’t do that. It’s cool,” he adds, belatedly. “I really admire it.”

You’re staring at him in shock. No one’s ever said anything like that before, complimented you in such a wholehearted way about something they’ve noticed about you. It's thrown you for a loop. You’re so used to thinking of yourself as a clown—a friendly clown, sure, but a clown nonetheless—that you’re genuinely shaken to the core after hearing what Jungkook’s just said about you.

He looks alarmed when you don’t respond, just blinking up at him as your brain desperately tries to reboot, but you’re saved from having to reply when Sejin calls out to you.

“Y/n, the computer at the front desk is playing up again." His hands are cupped around his mouth, amplifying himself so that you can hear him down the aisle. “You’re the only one who knows how to fix it.”

You snap out of your daze. “Again? You’ve tried turning it off and on again, right?” You’re about to walk away from Jungkook, but first you glance up at him, shy. “Um. Thanks for always being so nice, Kookie. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he says. He sounds a little breathless. You don’t have time to ask why, Sejin’s noise of distress catching your attention.

“I’m coming!” You rush off, nearly tripping on a loose grape on the floor; you manage to regain your balance with minimal flailing, unaware of how Jungkook fondly watches you go.

A few weeks later, you get sick.

You’re really bad at being sick, one of the reasons being that you don’t like to admit that you are sick—and so you still roll into work despite the fact you’re clearly unwell.

“You look like a body that’s just been fished out of the water.” Yoongi shows his concern in an interesting way. “Like you’ve been floating belly up near that trash island in the middle of the ocean that’s the size of Texas.”

You fix him with a baleful stare. He’d threatened to not let you into his car earlier, locking the door as you’d been reaching for the handle; he’d only relented after you’d hissed at him and scrabbled at the glass like some sort of feral cat.

“You do look a bit more tired than usual,” Jungkook says delicately.

You groan. The noise sounds like it’s being ripped out of your throat, which feels as dry as the sahara desert; why are your throat and eyes so dry while your nose keeps running? Why is the liquid in all the wrong places? The human body is a wreck. (After glancing at Jungkook, who looks as perfect as always, you mentally correct yourself—your body is a wreck.)

“I’m fine,” you rasp, and then sniff, trying to stop your nose from dripping. Jungkook hands you a tissue. “I don’t need this, because I’m not sick, but thank you.”

You proceed to blow your nose loudly into the tissue, a trumpeting noise that trails off into a squeak, a sad little thing that sounds like the farting noise a balloon makes when all the air finally escapes it. Yoongi snorts with amusement but Jungkook’s brow is furrowed with concern.

Rather than being disgusted at your appearance—you’re not sick, you’re just suffering from mild allergies or something, so maybe you’ll admit that you look a little washed out—Jungkook has been worried about you from the moment you’d walked in. He’d even offered you his work fleece when he’d caught you shivering, which you’d graciously accepted. (Again, you weren’t shivering because you were sick, it’s just weirdly cold in the store today, even though no one else seems to be affected by it.) (Also, like, hello? The man of your dreams was offering you the chance to wear his clothes? As if you were going to say no to that.)

Despite definitely not being sick, you do sort of feel like your head is full of cotton wool, and everything seems so much louder than usual. Sejin takes pity on you and gives you the surprisingly easy job of counting stock out back in the warehouse, where it’s quieter and warmer—but you still keep Jungkook’s fleece on anyway, breathing in the lovely smell of his fabric softener as you idly count items, taking it slow.

You’ve climbed a stepladder so that you can reach a higher shelf, mentally tallying the cans of coke you find up there; you shuffle through them so you can turn the labels towards you, making sure you’re keeping the different flavours separate. (What’s the difference between diet and zero sugar, anyway? Aren’t they both the same thing?)

“Did I just see a pigeon walk past?”

You startle and nearly knock your row of cans off the shelf. Somehow you hadn’t noticed Jungkook walking into the warehouse, even though he clearly hadn’t meant to surprise you; his hands fly out to steady the stepladder, and though you appreciate this it throws you off balance and so you grab the shelf in front of you. One of the cans falls off, jostled by your movements, and your instinct is to try and catch it with your foot so it at least slows enough before it hits the ground that it doesn’t explode.

In theory, it’s not a bad idea. In reality, you wildly overestimate how heavy the can is and so you put way too much power into the swing of your leg and punt the can of coke into the distance. The two of you trace its arcing trajectory as it disappears over the metal racking before landing with a distinctly wet clatter. Yeah, it’s definitely exploded, hasn’t it.

“Wasn’t me,” you say immediately, but then your slower-than-normal brain catches up with what Jungkook just said. “Wait, what?”

“I was wondering if you saw a pigeon walking around,” Jungkook says. “I think I saw it walking from the back entrance into here?”

Much to his obvious surprise, your eyes light up. You’re maybe not as exuberant as usual because of your illness but you’re still clearly excited. “Oh!” You hop down off the stepladder, nearly losing your balance for a second—maybe you are a teensy weensy bit sick—but then straighten up before Jungkook can help steady you. “Shortbread’s back!”

Jungkook looks baffled but follows after you when you start to walk, abandoning your stock counts. “Shortbread?”

“Yeah! Hold on, you’re taller than me. You see that bit of metal that juts out of the ceiling there?”

Jungkook looks at where you’re pointing. It’s against the back wall of the warehouse, the ceiling lower here than in the rest of the room, panelling and wires supported by criss-crossing bars of thick blue metal. “Yeah?”

“Can you reach up there and feel around a bit?” Jungkook makes a face, clearly not wanting to shove his hand into some mysterious hidden nook, but you look up at him with the best puppy dog eyes you can muster. You probably look like a wreck (what with how sick you are) but Jungkook relents immediately anyway; you think it's because he's nice and not because your attempt at being cute had been successful. He cranes upwards and feels around with his hand until it makes contact with crinkly plastic, and you motion for him to grab it—it’s an open pack of biscuits, with a receipt wedged inside that has your name scribbled on it.

“Gimme, gimme.” You make grabby hands at him. He tilts it towards you and you latch onto a biscuit, which is clearly stale; it crumbles almost immediately in your hands but you don’t pay it any mind, gesturing for him to put the tray back in its hiding place. “Where did you see the pigeon last?”

“Uh, near the soup, I think,” Jungkook answers. You immediately head in that direction, talking over your shoulder as he follows after you.

“You’ve seen that fishing net near the cardboard baler, right?” Your eyes flit to and fro, trying to spot the errant pigeon.

“Yeah, the green one? I was wondering why that was there.”

You click your tongue. “A few months ago we had a pigeon who kept flying here and wandering into the building,” you explain. “We knew it was the same pigeon because it has a tag around its leg? I think it’s a tracker pigeon, I don’t know. So I would use biscuits to get it to follow me outside. But then management got the net and someone said they caught it and, uh, ‘disposed’ of it.” You look equal parts distressed and sad and Jungkook’s chest twinges. “I haven’t seen it since, so even though I hoped that it wasn't the truth, I kind of accepted that it probably was.”

You round the corner past soups, heading towards the cereal overstock, when you both spot the pigeon. It’s slowly walking backwards and forwards on the floor, but when you appear, it stops and looks at you.

“Shortbread! It is you!” You sound absolutely elated, squatting down and proffering the mess of crumbs in your hand, sprinkling them in front of you. “I knew they hadn’t caught you!”

The pigeon—Shortbread—hops forward immediately, heading straight for the crumbs. You laugh in delight as it gets closer and starts to peck at the food. “You’ve gotta stop coming here, bud, Sejin’s going to get really mad if he spots you,” you say. Shortbread, of course, ignores you, more intent on eating the crumbs of—well, the crumbs of shortbread that you’ve given it. You look away from the pigeon, up at Jungkook, who’s watching you with an expression on his face that you can only describe as consternation. Does he dislike pigeons, maybe? “Do you want to feed him?”

“Doyouwanttogetcoffeewithme?” Jungkook blurts. The remaining crumbs of biscuit fall out of your hand, scattering into a wild constellation of fragments that Shortbread immediately swoops down onto—but you’re not paying the bird any mind, completely blindsided.

“Uh. What?” You stare up at Jungkook. Your mouth is open and slack with surprise; you hadn’t quite caught his words, but you could have sworn that he said— “Come again?”

Jungkook’s put a hand over his face, which is starting to turn red. “Do you—do you want to get coffee with me?” Even though he’s turned his head away from you, his eyes are pointed in your direction; Shortbread makes a cooing noise and starts to peck at the crumbs directly in front of you, but neither of you pay the pigeon any attention.

“Uh.” You know your brain is running on around 25% capacity right now, a mixture of your sickness and lack of sleep catching up with you, but you could swear that—what does Jungkook mean—nah, he doesn’t mean that, no way… haha… unless…? “You… want to get coffee? You know where we keep the jar.” Shortbread pecks at your open palm, a few crumbs still stuck to your skin. You’re momentarily distracted from your mental breakdown, giggling at the sensation of the pigeon’s beak, even though it hurts your throat to laugh. “Shortbread, there’s way more food on the floor, why are you trying to eat from my hand?”

“Y/n.” When Jungkook says your name your eyes snap back towards him. “Can I take you out on a date?”

This time you do catch all his words. Your mouth falls open again and you stare at him like the dumbass you are. Is Jeon Jungkook—your cute, kind, buff angel seriously asking you out? Right now? When you're squatting on a dusty warehouse floor with a handful of stale biscuit crumbs, wearing the world’s least flattering uniform, all while looking like some sort of washed out river corpse? (Thanks for that lovely comparison, Yoongi.) Has he lost his mind? Maybe lifting all those heavy crates meant that all the blood has run into his arm muscles rather than his brain and it's been starved of oxygen, because there’s no sane reason as to why Jungkook would be asking you out on a date.

“Me? A date?” Your voice comes out as a squeak. “With you?”

Jungkook looks absolutely mortified. You didn’t realise someone’s cheeks could go that red. “Forget I said anything,” he says, turning on his heel so that he can walk away; you catch a glimpse of bright crimson climbing up the back of his neck and the tips of his ears, too.

“No, wait, Jungkook!” You snap up from your squatting position and grab Jungkook’s shoulder, smearing crumbs onto his shirt. You feel light headed as he starts to turn around, but not because he’s looking at you—you’d stood up too quickly and you feel woozy from your illness, swaying off balance.

You nearly careen sideways into some cereal overstock. Jungkook’s eyes fly wide open in alarm, interposing himself so that you land against him instead. There’s the sound of metal clattering as your weight sends Jungkook into the cereal, rattling the cage, but he holds you steady. You still feel a bit faint, but now you’re sure that it’s partially due to the fact that you’re crushed up against Jungkook’s warm, firm chest, his hands on your hips as he frowns down at you.

“Are you alright?”

“Never better,” you mumble into the fabric of his polo shirt. (Jungkook's at risk of you snotting on him if your nose starts to run, but he doesn’t seem to care.) He smells even better up close than you ever could have imagined—thank god your sense of smell is still intact—and you melt against him for a second before your brain catches up with the situation and your head snaps back so that you can look at him. “Wait. Why were you about to leave?”

Jungkook’s look of concern turns instantaneously into one of embarrassment. “No reason,” he says, voice higher than normal, clearly uncomfortable.

You clench your fist and hit his firm chest, but with no strength behind the punch; your hand may as well have been a slice of bread for all the impact it makes. “Liar.” There’s no heat behind your words. “Did you seriously ask me on a date?”

Jungkook’s face is reddening again, but you’re still leaning against him. He can’t try to escape this time. “Uh. Yes?” From this close you can count his individual eyelashes, pick out the moles that dot his face, and, yep, you were right, he’s even better up close. “I’m sorry?”

You blink. “Sorry? For asking me out? Jungkook. Do you seriously think I’d say no?”

“... yes?” Jungkook’s voice is a squeak, much like yours had been a moment earlier. Holy shit. Does he not realise how amazing and hot he is? Does he seriously think that you, resident clown, would turn him down? Does he think you’re the one who’s out of his league?

You try to put this into words. Try to ask him this gently, so you can highlight just how ridiculous he’s being. However, what comes out of your mouth is: “Are you an idiot?” Thanks, brain, for once again abandoning you in your greatest time of need. Quick, reel it back. “Why would you think that?”

Jungkook, to your eternal gratitude, doesn’t seem offended at your implication that he’s stupid. He just seems flustered. “I—you’re just so unapologetically you, you know?” He says. "You're charismatic and confident and everyone likes you. You’re the most popular person on night shift. I’m too shy to talk to anyone and I just do the same thing every night I’m here, but you can do everything. I always saw you talking to the other morning workers and you were always so nice, but you never spoke to me? When you introduced yourself to me after I moved to nights, I was confused, but, uh, really happy.”

Holy shit. He really does think that you’re out of his league. He looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up after this little speech, mouth snapping shut while his cheeks continue to blaze red. He's so cute. He's going to be the death of you.

“Jungkook. I didn’t talk to you before night shift because you made me so fucking nervous,” you say. “I could barely look at you for weeks because you’re so beautiful that it kind of makes me want to barf sometimes and I couldn’t handle it. But then you moved to nights and I couldn’t avoid talking to you, and I found out how kind and hardworking and interesting you are, and—Jungkook, I don’t think I’ve ever crushed this hard on anyone in my life.” Why are you telling him all this? You must be more sick than you realise. Your mouth is entirely out of your control. “I get so excited for work now because it means I get to see you. Yoongi and Jimin have been listening to me gush about you for months. And Hobi too, but you don't know him. But I didn’t think you’d ever like me back so I didn’t say anything,” you admit, and the tiny part of your brain that’s still functional shoots a prayer off to God, or anyone else who’s listening, begging to be struck down by lightning. No such luck. “Uh. Basically, yes, Jungkook, I would love to go on a date with you, please excuse my rambling, my brain feels like it’s full of cotton.”

Jungkook’s eyes are wide. He’s staring at you like he can’t believe anything you’re saying. You abruptly realise that the two of you are still wrapped around each other in a very compromising position, in an area of the building where anyone could appear at any moment—not to mention that Shortbread is still fluttering around nearby, eating up crumbs with typical pigeon inefficiency.

“You—you think I’m beautiful?” Jungkook asks, and you blush.

“I think you’re the hottest person who’s ever existed, probably,” you answer honestly. “Please don’t ask more questions, I start to feel queasy whenever I have to express real emotion.”

“Y/n.” Jungkook seems to be rapidly getting over his shock, and a smile starts curling at his lips, and—yeah, you still wanna lick his teeth. Good to know. “I couldn’t possibly be the hottest person who’s ever existed.”

You snort, even though the action grates the back of your nose and throat. “Where’s your evidence?”

Jungkook gently squeezes you. “Right here,” he says.

Your brain desperately scrabbles for purchase in reality, shutting down and then rebooting, internet modem sounds crackling slowly in your head as you try to get to grips with the fact that Jungkook just did that, even though the motion was meant to be tender. Why must your mind be so dirty?

Wait.

Wait, he thinks you’re hot?

“Jungkook, I look like death,” you say, and although you’re ostensibly referring to the fact you’re sick right now (fine, you’ll admit it, you’re sick), it’s more of a general statement.

“You’re gorgeous,” Jungkook says, deadly serious. Your heart flutters. What did you do to deserve this boy?

You’ve still got your faces tilted towards each other, and you can’t help but notice Jungkook’s eyes darting down to your lips. You’ve just started to inch closer to each other when your brain finally snaps back to full capacity and you’re shoving your hand in Jungkook’s face; the clean one, thankfully, not the one covered with biscuit crumbs. Seems like your brain came through.

“I don’t want our first kiss to be in the warehouse at work, when I’m sick,” you say. While that’s true, your heart is pounding in your chest at the idea that Jungkook apparently still wants to kiss you despite the fact you definitely need to blow your nose.

“Okay.” Jungkook’s voice is muffled against your palm. “That’s fair. Can you move your hand? It’s kind of hard to breathe like this.”

“Oh, shit, sorry.” You pull your hand away, and Jungkook takes in a deep breath; you feel how his chest expands and you’re once again reminded of how you’re flush against him. Jesus. “Uh, we should probably get Shortbread out of here before someone catches him.”

Jungkook lets you go so you can coax Shortbread towards one of the fire exits. He holds the door open as you squat down, wishing the pigeon good luck before you say goodbye; when you glance back up at Jungkook you notice the look on his face, open and fond, and your heart does a loop de loop in your chest when you realise that he's been looking at you like this a lot—your brain had just refused to let you notice it for what it is. What the heck.

As Jungkook lets the door shut behind you, you clear your throat. “Um. While I do absolutely want to get coffee with you, can it wait until I’m better? I don’t wanna be all crusty and snotty on our first date,” you say, weirdly shy despite the fact it’s obvious that Jungkook seems to think that you hung the moon. (Which you still don’t understand but you’re not complaining, not at all.)

“Sure.” Jungkook smiles and your heart flip flops in your chest again. The feats of acrobatics your heart achieves when Jungkook around is honestly astounding, but everything he does is just so… adorable. You’re certain that when you see him out of his work uniform and in his regular clothes you’re going to spontaneously combust, but you’ll cross that bridge when you come to it. “I should probably get back to fruit and veg, but, I’ll see you for lunch?”

“Yeah.” You smile helplessly back at him. “Of course. See you at lunch.”

Despite the fact you’re worried about getting him sick, Jungkook really doesn’t care about keeping his distance. When Yoongi walks into the canteen to the sight of you snuggled up to Jungkook and giggling as you feed him his lunch, your friend just rolls his eyes. “Kids these days,” he says, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“You’re just jealous that it’s taken me and Jungkook less time to confess to each other than it’s taken you with Jimin,” you say, and then gasp as you remember something. “Oh, Jungkook, that reminds me! What was that long conversation you were having with Jimin the other week?”

Jungkook flushes. “Uh, he was giving me advice on how to ask you out,” he admits sheepishly. “I wasn’t planning on just blurting it out in the warehouse, but you were being so cute that I couldn’t stop myself?”

You stare into Jungkook’s eyes for a few long moments, before solemnly saying: “Jeon Jungkook, if I wasn’t sick, I would absolutely be kissing you right now.”

“Ugh, please don’t,” Yoongi says. Jungkook buries his head into the material of his work fleece, hiding his embarrassment against your shoulder, and you just laugh.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook oneshot #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenario #bts #bts au #cypherwritersnet #bts fluff #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jeongguk #jeongguk x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook x oc #joy.masterlist

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p1nkwitch · 4 years ago

Text

Just wanted to drop this cause im tired.

Enjoy some lonelyeyes reincarnation au in a coffee shop.

Peter works.

Its not something that particularly bothers him much. His sister laughs and jokes around with him, while moving around serving her orders.

Their cafe is small and cozy but also sort of lonely, they have the oddest shifts imaginable, mostly working the graveyard shift.

Peter cooks the pastries while Judith and Aaron take the orders and serve the food. Clara has her music show on fridays and Lydia works at the art gallery but spends most of her time helping around as well.

The five of them are happy.

Simon was happy to help them pay for the Tundra Cafe. He hums under his breath while Judy sings along, there weren't that many people so they could do it without shame.

He is content.

…

At least he thinks he is. And honestly why shouldn't he? He has a good job, he has a good relationship with all his siblings, his adoptive dad loved them unconditionally.

By all means he should be nothing but happy.

And yet.

He feels… as if something was missing.

It was like an itch that he could not get over with.

It probably started back when he got a crush in one of his college professors that he realized-

That he really was missing something important.

Mister Wright was older than him sure, but he was handsome and Peter wasn't one to care much about age. However, the few times they spoke it was-

It was like there was something not right, it soured him somehow, but perhaps it was for the best, the man was married and he just had a stupid silly crush. It still did not take away the fact that he felt as if there was something off with him too.

He thinks his eyes should be a clearer grey than they were.

The next time he realized something was off was when he met Elias Bouchard.

Again it was embarrassing how quickly he seemed to get a crush on him, he just saw him a few times and his mind got stuck on his face. He was handsome and this time he was around his age. They had a few classes together so despite his anxiety he actually spoke with him.

And it was….

Dull.

He was dull as a wall. It did not lead up to anything else, beyond a few greetings later on, but it stayed on his mind.

Any other attempt at dating or going out turned out badly for him and its not as if he didn't try! It just was never… right.

Clara said that if he kept looking for the perfect person he would die alone and miserable. Lydia hits her and tells him that its ok, sometimes people don't click, he just needs to find someone who gets him.

He tries, but between his social anxiety, personality and perhaps his lack of interest in sex during the best of times, people are more or less put off with him. His sisters and brother are all offended on his behalf but Peter has resigned himself to not think too much about it.

Maybe he is like Lydia and he is better off alone.

That makes all of them look at him with tight faces and he blinks confusedly at them.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing, just, you have us and dad Peter you're not alone” Judy holds his hand and Aaron nods.

“I- i know, i just meant like relationship wise, maybe i just have to be alone. I know I have all of you. We live in the same building block. I don't think we could be alone if we wanted” That makes them all sort of laugh and the tension breaks.

His siblings talk and joke and he ponders.

He wonders why sometimes they all act weird with him when he speaks about being alone. Why his adoptive dad always made sure to let them know he loved them. Simon was fun and took care of them, but it always felt as if he wasn't saying something.

However he sees his family be happy around him and he ignores that feeling of wrong that always permeates around him. He won't dampen their happiness with his own pessimistic thoughts and paranoia.

So yes, Peter bakes, makes models of ships on his free time, takes pictures a lot-

He found out he enjoyed keeping pictures of things he liked, plus taking odd ones of his siblings. It was just… harmless fun, more often than not he went to the port to take pictures of the ships. He wondered how it would feel to have his own.

Still that's a dream for someone else.

Peter Fairchild is happy with the quaint little life he has.

It stands to reason that his life would be upturned on a Tuesday, Peter has a personal hate towards that day of the week and it makes sense that this happened then.

Aaron was running late, he had to help a friend move out and it took longer than expected, the cafe opened earlier than usual and there were a lot of people. Judith could not take all the orders on her own, and their sisters would not be able to help at least for another hour. So with a sigh and discomfort he goes to take orders.

They work faster like that at least.

Its when he asks about the order of some guy working on his laptop that he gets hit with something familiar.

“One black coffee and a chocolate croissant” The order rings alarm bells on his head so he looks to the face of the owner.

A man with curly auburn hair, red glasses and freckles gives him a practiced strained smile that he sees in more clients, but what actually makes him almost drop the paper he was writing on was the eyes, they were such a cool shade of grey.

He flounders and the man raises an eyebrow impatiently, so he writes quickly and goes back to get order. She gives him a puzzled look since she is usually the one taking them to the customers, but Peter shakes his head and works.

His hands move on autopilot to make the coffee, and even if he says black he puts just the right amount of milk and sugar that his mind provides.

Picking up one of the freshly made croissants and after hesitating a chocolate chip cookie he goes and gives it to the man quietly and without a word. That done and his sweaty palms and his heart going faster he goes to hide in the kitchen, expecting to get yelled at for messing up the order-

But nothing happens.

Judith comes to check on him, but Peter was at that point just cleaning up a little bit and waves her away. Nodding she hesitates and hugs him a little bit before going out. He lets out a breath and sighs.

Lydia and Clara come 10 minutes later and he can stay cooped out in the kitchen in peace. Still he can't help but to be nervous about the customer he gave the coffee and cookie.

Why did he change his order? It was insignificant but it just sounded right. Fretting a little he finishes cleaning the plates. Nothing else comes about and by the time they close the man is gone.

The feeling of loss becomes stronger.

He doesn't see him again for at least another 3 weeks, in fact the only reason he realizes is because Clara says there is a sour red head giving her and Judith the stink eye every time they try to get his order. His lips twitch upwards and he suggests sending Aaron, she rolls her eyes but asks the younger boy to go.

Its not five minutes later that he comes back just as perplexed.

“Is he trying to just get the wifi for free? I'm going to kick him off” Peter dries his hands and quietly prepares the order. Once he is done he sneaks out and delivers it to him, the man gives him a critical look that sends shivers down his spine. Both in disgust and familiarity.

“I didn't order yet”

“... Well you didn't let anyone take your order anyways” His lips purse in thought and he picks up the drink taking a sip. He puts the rest of his things down and goes to turn around to leave, when he asks how did he know how he takes his coffee.

Peter doesn't have a clue.

“You just looked like you needed something less bitter” He sees his mouth fall open slightly and Peter goes while feeling his ears burn, oh god why did he say that?

Once back in the safety of the kitchen, Judy gives him a look but pats his shoulder and goes out.

Ok, ok, he is fine.

The man keeps coming and refuses to let any of his siblings pick out his orders. So Peter is the one in charge to talk with him. Albeit that is an understatement. They merely snark a little, he gives him his order and goes. Whoever is working that day is supposed to charge him, Peter is only obligated to present the food. However the interesting thing is, that just as their cafe opens at weird hours of the day, the man appears there just as well, its kind of eerie how well he seems to know when it's open considering they have the oddest schedules.

Its in fact in one of those times they work at night that he sees him again. Usually he is very put together, but this time he looked… well messy. His hair looked as he had run his hands through it several times, his eyes were red and puffy and he honestly looked miserable.

Peter was completely baffled, the worst part is he wasn't sure what to do, or if he should say something.

The place was almost empty, his sister was keeping watch, so he just stands there and asks what he wanted that night.

He looks up to him and Peter has that feeling that this man should not be looking like this, he should be smug or sure of himself not… whatever this was. He also wanted to pull him towards him and that thought made his cheeks heat up.

“Just- heh, just surprise me i guess. Its been… its been one of those days” He is not sure what he means, but he nods and goes to make him something. Most of the names of the drinks and desserts were Lydia's ideas, the rest of his siblings alongside him were terrible at picking names. He is surprised they even let him pick the one of the cafe, but considering the other options, it was the least weird one.

Still they do have some that they chose for the orders.

Case in point.

The chocolate tower cake lovingly named the panopticon and his special coffee the watcher. It was named like that when it was proven that it had so much caffeine that it made you unable to sleep. He is sure he saw a guy stop blinking for like five minutes after insisting on drinking it, despite the warnings.

So once he grabs it, he takes it to the table and warns him.

“We are not responsible for the repercussions of drinking the watcher” The man looks at him and for the first time since he started to come he sees him smile, soon it turns into laughter. Peter watches while clutching the tray and feeling butterflies in his stomach.

He has a lovely laugh.

“What- what is so funny?”

“You- i- it doesn't matter. I get the name now I suppose. The cake?” The small chocolate tower had several fillings and it was very spongy and full of chocolate.

“Mm the panopticon is the best cake we have, surprised you didn't try it before little man” The slip up comes and he freezes expecting the man to say something or get annoyed, but all he does is sigh and smile more sadly at him.

“Thank you” Its weird and he is unsure what happened but he smiles back awkwardly.

He doesn't come back for 2 weeks.

Its raining when he sees him again.

It was Lydia and him and the place only had two clients sitting around drinking and talking amicably. He doesn't pay attention to the little whistle that lets them know someone entered, Simon thought it would be more fun than a bell.

Still his older sisters comes inside looking-

Frazzled?

Lydia is the most calm out of all of them so he immediately goes to see if she is fine, instead she shakes her head and points inside the cafe.

When he looks he sees the man, but he also realizes he has an awful bruise on his eye and chin as if someone had punched him. His heart sort of seizes and his sister goes out with him.

“Are you-”

“I want another watcher and panopticon” He doesn't let him finish, he is sitting close to the register. The man looks even more tired and wiped out.

“... I will get it?” Lydia elbows him. “Do you- do you want some ice for your face?” He can feel his sister disappointment and need to hit her forehead, but he honestly doesn't know what to say. The man, and he really needs to get a name, nods, so Peter prepares the order and gets some ice wrapped up for him.

“Thank you”

“You are welcome um..-?” He drifts and the man looks at him with one eye squinting due to the swelling.

“Jonah. In Jonah Magnus” He seems to be expecting something, yet Peter just nods.

“Peter Fairchild pleasure to meet you?” Lydia is giving him looks. Jonah seems to deflate, but smiles a little, albeit is tainted by the grimace of pain.

“Now that we have names can i eat?” He scowls but nods and lets him be. Still he checks on him from time to time and everytime he peeks from the kitchen window he sees him staring back at him. Peter blushes and works.

He leaves and he is left with questions.

Lydia acts very oddly and concerned about him and the man, but he waves her off.

Jonah comes back, still with the bruises but he looks more calm.

“I wanted to apologize for the scare, I had an altercation with… a friend. That went poorly as you can see” Peter nods and gives him his cookies.

“So- um.. I was wondering if perhaps as a… you know, treat for being so nice, you would like to go out to eat? Or well i was going to suggest getting some coffee but i think you might already be tired of it by now” It takes him a few seconds to realize he is asking him out. When he does he chokes on air and after thinking it a little he nods.

He sees Jonah smile become more real and realizes he was concerned he would say no. He also sees his cheeks start to slowly become more pink the more he stares. So he looks elsewhere and says they can pick a date later. Jonah nods, grabs the writing pad from his hands brushing their fingers and puts up a number.

“So we can arrange it more easily” Peter nods and laughs nervously while walking away. He feels them tingle pleasantly.

“YOU HAVE A DATE!!”

“With the weirdo Ju, i'm sure Peter can do better than him-”

“Cla don't be mean, plus he said yes so he is interested-!”

“That he is interested doesnt mean its good for him Aaron!”

“Don't be so sour-”

Lydia sits with him and they just watch TV calmly while the others talk in the kitchen making dinner. It was Saturday so they were having it in her apartment.

“Do you think it will make you happy?” The question is too particular, but his sister is always like that so he nods.

“It feels… right, more real than anything i suppose, i know its weird but i just…” He just sometimes feels as if he is sort of existing in some sort of empty space and that everything is his imagination.

Life is good. He has siblings that love him, a dad that cares for all of them instead of their original family that was terrible.

Peter has a job-

Life is perfect.

And yet-

This man is more real than anything else.

Like a splash of color in his grayscale world, he is infuriating with his answers when they have small talks at the cafe, but the banter is familiar, it gives him an ache that doesn't understand.

The same ache he thinks he got when he met James and Elias, only this time its because its right. Jonah is right. He is put out of his musings by a hand on his arm.

“I get it Peter… i really do. As long as you are happy its fine. Just… just know that we love you ok? Don't forget it” He tilts his head and sighs before giving her sister a side hug, the top of her head is a little below his collarbone, so he kisses it and says that he could never.

They meet up to actually have lunch.

Its… its nice.

Jonah is a little bastard and they spend time judging and betting on the people around. He also learns more about him.

He is working mostly in management, which he thinks suits him way too well, he seems bossy enough.

“Rude!” He grins at him and feels…

At ease.

The man likewise seems far more calmer and happy, it makes him oddly happy to see him like that.

They keep going out, sometimes for lunch, sometimes they get coffee somewhere else. But they do and the more he gets to hear him talk, the more he feels as if he had always know him, but just could not remember it. Sometimes Jonah seems that he knows him too and its sort of perplexing. Clara would say he stalked him, but its- there are such small things that its not possible for him to know, even if he had.

Its at their 6 date that he asks him to eat at his place. He looks surprised but nods.

When he opens the door and sees him, he almost stammers a holy fuck, he barely manages to get a hold of himself. Jonah looked-

Handsome, so so handsome. It sort of fried his brain a little bit.

So he lets him and tries to finish cooking to distract himself from saying something stupid or embarassing like-

Marry me.

No, no he is not that stupid.

Still Jonah offers to help and they work in tandem and it is such a familiar feeling he is left breathless.

They move as if they both already were used to having the other in their space, its… nerve wracking. Peter wants to know why.

The dinner is delicious and they end up curling on the couch watching tv, Jonah is using him as a giant pillow and Peter can't complain, the weight on top of him actually makes him feel comforted and also sleepy…

He sees the man yawn and before thinking it better asks if he wants to crash here since its late and they are both tired. Jonah blinks at him and he sees him hesitate, so he assures him he won't take it bad if he says no, it was merely a suggestions and-

He laughs and nods before hiding his face on the crook of his neck. He lets out a breath almost as if punched and feels his cheeks warm up while grinning like an idiot.

Once they change and he offers the man a shirt that hangs a little bit too loosely around his frame they get in bed and Peter sort of… stares, Jonah does the same.

“Hey” His lips twitch.

“Hey yourself” It's not clear which one of them moves first, but the next thing he knows they were kissing. It wasn't rushed or anything merely a press of their lips that sets him aflame inside. God he loves him doesn't he?

He loves-

He-

…

Oh.

Son of a bitch.

He bites his lip lightly making the man complain and then he pulls back.

“You sneaky bastard” He sees him frown and then light up with realization.

“Oh”

“Hello Elias” He frowns.

“Jonah if you don't mind” Peter mulls it over, thinking of James and Elias. It wasn't the body that he wanted.

It was the smug bastard that was piloting it that he loved.

“Jonah” The man shivers “I died” He sees him lock his jaw and close his eyes. How peculiar, he would not have hidden away before or shown… shame for what he can see on his face, he wonders what changed in this life.

Peter sees him swallow.

“You did” Nodding he thinks. He died, there were fear gods, he was a Lukas once upon a time, but now he was a Fairchild even if by adoption.

He grew alone, he grew with his siblings.

He was lonely, he was loved.

Peter sees a small tear escape Jonah along with his body being tightly coiled, as if waiting to sprint out.

The punches make sense now, if someone else remembered...

Letting out a breath and pulling at his hair in thought, Peter closes his eyes too and lets it all go over him. That was a life ago, and now? Now he is here and he was… content, but not happy.

Not until he found him again. Or more like Jonah found him.

Its easy honestly, the answer to what he wants to do with him and this chance.

Peter in his first life had only cared about two things, his god and Elias. One is gone, the other.. changed, but was still the same. The same man he had fallen in love with so many times, and in different ways through the years of their marriages and divorces.

The only one that had some form of hold over his heart.

“Come here my little siren” Jonah’s eyes flash open and he blinks a few more tears away before scrambling to his open arms. Its raining outside and the sound its what they hear beyond their breathing and the beating of their hearst. The lights of the room are dimmed and Peter finally feels right, he pulls the covers up and tangles their bodies together, fitting perfectly together.

Without forsaken he can admit it freely, that he loves this, loves the feeling of Jonah pressed against him, a different body, but also always the same.

He just needs to get used to it again, slowly playing with his hair he speaks.

“You are quite a bastard, but so am i and… as nice as this life is… i think its much better with you in it” Jonah shivers.

“What i'm trying to say is i missed you, even if i didn't remember you before. It was always like there was something amiss. A hole in my perfect little life”

“I-” He smiles tiredly.

“You didn't, i know, but its ok. I know you” Jonah shakes his head.

“I did- i just didn't know it either, i thought it was Barnabas at first, then the others, but… it was you. I missed you Peter, I really did…. Even- even in the apocalypse I still did, I would look into the lonely often. Useless sure, but i did” His plan had worked, but at the same time that was no longer their issue.

“Well I guess we are at an impasse. What do you want to do?”

“... I want- i want to stay, please” He thinks of his apartment, big enough for two.

“You will have to deal with my siblings and Simon, this time we stayed close” He snorts.

“If they don't kick me out, i was… an ass with them” Kissing his forehead Peter laughs.

“You were, but… they are happy for me”

“... then yes i would like to stay”

“Good, Jonah?” He looks up to him again, and Peter sees the eyes are the same, that this time they are right, leaning down he kisses him. They fumble in bed for a long while and when they are both sated and more used to each other's bodies, Peter lets the smaller man hug him from the back to cuddle and finally fall asleep.

“You know one would think you would enjoy the opposite of this-”

“I do, but i missed you, so hush and just sleep” He stays quiet for a little bit.

“Night Peter”

“Night, I love you”

“.... i love you too” He smiles.

In the morning they will make breakfast, Jonah goes to his place and he prepares to work. Once he sees him come in later on during the day he presents to him his order and gets a smile.

They will try to make this life count.

He wonders how long till he moves in with him.

On his way to buy groceries he sees a box with a familiar kitten left to the side of a building and he sighs. Better take his cat to the vet now, food can wait.

His sisters will be ecstatic.

Aaron not so much since he is allergic, but well.

It is his cat.

Life truly is good now.

He got his husband, his cat, family and job.

Humming along with the kitten pawing at his arms softly he feels the most happy as he has ever been.

#lonelyeyes #peter lukas #jonah magnus #captain the cat #mywritingf

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whump-town · 4 years ago

Text

In The Blood

I was going to post it all in one go and then I thought about it and I was like... you know, if @masterwords did it in two parts maybe I should too. Because I really got to thinking and hey, waiting for that part two HURT. So, I gonna do it too.

Based off an anon’s ask, Unsub kidnaps Hotch to get back at Rossi.

Warning: torture, blood, and angst

Part One

For as long as David Rossi has known Aaron Hotchner, he’s always been a little perplexed about tackling the problem of his handwriting. The kind is as sharp as a tack, that’s undeniable. His profiling skills were unmatched in the academy and what he lacked in extroversion, he made up with in charisma. From the very moment, he met the kid Dave has had nothing but aspirations for the great things he could do. For the things, he would do.

Now, some two decades after he’d rubbed the back of his sick future prodigy, shaking his head in sympathy, he’s sitting at his own desk. A senior agent that shares a wall with that old prodigy, now a unit chief whose puking at crime scenes days have long since passed. But something much worse lurks in his future and his present.

“Hey,” JJ knocks on Dave’s doorframe, smiling. She steps in without him having to say a thing, in her hand is mail. “Downstairs called me,” she tells him, handing him the envelope. “You got some mail and I guess they weren’t sure if they should send it up.” They both know exactly why downstairs called. The sexist bastard treats her like Hotch and Dave’s receptionist. Despite both men having stern, if not borderline unkind, words with them on the matter.

He frowns but takes it from her. “You shouldn’t have had to do that,” he mumbles, glancing at his name on the envelope and reaching for his letter opener with a sigh. “I’ll say something to them,” he promises, sliding the metal through the paper and ripping it open in one clean slice.

“You really don’t have to.”

As he pulls the letter out he stops. His eyes scan over the paper, frowning as he takes in exactly what it is that he’s seeing. “JJ,” he says, removing his left hand from the paper but keeping his thumb and pointer finger on it. “I need you to get someone up here,” he says calmly. There’s a fine layer of grim on the paper. Dirt and, the worst part, blood. Thick droplets that have nearly eaten through the paper. More identifiable than all of that? Hotch’s thin, chicken scratch handwriting.

“Why?” she asks, stepping around his desk to look. She takes the letter in slowly, breath hissing in a shocked inhale. “That’s--”

Jason and Dave could never read his damn handwriting. It’s illegible and made significantly worse by the fact that his palm smears the writing. When Derek and Hotch had confronted Jason about hiring some diversity (the bullpen had way too much testosterone and they really needed a woman on the team), they hadn’t had a type in mind. Hell, hiring Garcia had been an “on a whim” sort of thing (Jason’s exact had been “whatever you think is best”). JJ’s best feature? She’d glanced at the note Hotch had left for Gideon and read it without a problem. Like it was easy.

Now, standing over Dave’s shoulder, stomach twisting sickly, she scans over his shaky lettering. Breath catching as she reads things she… It’s horrific to watch pictures line themselves up on the screen, Garcia turning her head from them as she explains what they can all see but to read it. To have to stand here and read horrific things someone has done to someone you love. To a friend, in their own writing, it’s…

“What do we do?” she asks softly.

Dave wishes he couldn’t make out a single line of writing. As selfish as the notion is, he needs ignorance.

The line that he can’t get out of his head? “I am so sorry, Dave.”

Morgan waste no haste in making himself the leading agent. Which is no real problem because Dave has no interest in taking charge of this situation. He just wants to hold onto his letter, the only connection he has to Hotch right now.

How had they not noticed he was gone?

“I should have known something was wrong.” The admission takes them all by surprise, mostly because it leaves Emily’s mouth with such conviction that no one’s really sure what to say. They aren’t given the chance as she tucks her arms around her chest and shakes her head at herself. “I knew something was wrong when Foyet attacked him,” she observes. “I should have known this time.”

But… how could she? This time was different.

Jack is away with Jessica. Spending time with his cousin because Hotch secretly fears that the boy spending too much time with him will spell nothing but misfortune for his future. Which is simply not true. Hotch has taught that child grace that none of them have ever seen in a child. He’s too much like Hotch but not in bad ways. In his ghost-like gait. Never making a sound as he moves. While it surely isn’t genetic, he’d acquired his father’s silent intuition and those softly pained brown eyes.

But, perhaps, that is what Hotch fears.

That fear has cost them days. Now, they can not measure how long Hotch has been held captive wherever he is. Has he been gone since last Thursday? Taken from the office or from his home? Jack had already taken off with Jessica, gone to spend time with his cousins. Had it been Saturday morning while he was out for his morning jog? After coffee Sunday when he was getting lost in the bookstore in town?

No one knows.

How could they?

“His pills,” Dave mumbles. He stands from his chair, frowning as his brain races. “On his counter,” the information is coming too quickly. “For his birthday five years ago Emily got him a pill sorter.” Hotch hadn’t found it very funny (he’d pretended not to) but Emily had beamed at him. Very proud of herself and her old man gifts. “One of the ones that label Sunday to Saturday-- each day.”

It had been both a gag gift and one of purpose. Foyet’s attack had left its damage, physical and mental. He’d had a bag full of medications to take home from the hospital. Some angiotensin prescription for his kidneys, an anticlotting/blood-thinning agent for the ruined veins in his chest, and a few more Dave can’t even remember. Never mind the fist full of medications he’d been on since about twenty for mental disorders that had never officially been written down as diagnoses to allow him to keep his job.

The point is-- if Hotch was on top of himself about his medication, they can get a rough estimate of how long he’s been gone.

It’s a great idea…

“What if he…” Emily goes with Dave to check Hotch’s house. They both have keys and it’s unspoken that if Hotch were here he’d certainly prefer it be the two of them rooting around his things. Besides, they know how he is and they know what to expect the second they walk in.

They also know that as good as Dave’s idea is, there’s a silent fear shared between them that he hasn’t been on top of his health. It happens occasionally but mostly around the dates of Foyet’s attack. Still, not taking those medications and being gone for over four days is going to be some really unfortunate things for Hotch. Withdrawals, mostly, but scarier than that? Without the blood thinners, there’s a possibility of a stroke.

“He’ll be fine,” Dave mumbles, slipping his key into the lock of the door. Pushing the door open, Dave steps into the house. Hotch’s car wasn’t in the driveway which tells them a minimal amount of information but will give Garcia’s something to run with. Right now they need to focus on their task.

The house is cool and dark, the curtains in the living room drawn completely shut. If Jack isn’t home Hotch prefers the darkness, despite the strain it puts on his eyes. Stepping in, neither bother to turn on the lights. The sun peaks just barely through the thin curtains and, if they’re being honest, they don’t want to break the illusion both have created in their minds.

That Hotch is merely sleeping.

His phone is on silent.

He’s sleeping.

The notion is strong enough to make Emily hesitates as she stands outside his bedroom door.

She’s only been in his room twice. The first time to soothe his broken screams, waking him from yet another nightmare that threatened to consume him. He’d clung to her, sobbing into the old fabric of the shirt he’d given her to sleep in. She’d slept right there with him.

The second time came only a month after Haley’s funeral. He’d smelled like he’d consumed a small brewery but she’d still tucked his comforter around him. Placing Advil and a glass of water on his nightstand for when he woke up. Even getting the trashcan out to place by the side of his bed.

He trusts her.

Closing her eyes, she opens the door, and her illusion is broken. He’s not in bed.

His bed isn’t made, which makes her smile sadly. For such a literal suit and tie man, he’s got some strange habits. One of which is that he doesn’t make his bed. It’s cute, adds character. She doesn’t get the chance to dwell on that for too long. There are more pressing matters to deal with.

Stepping in she rolls her eyes at the pair of boxers he’s got thrown up onto his dresser, his nightstand drawer open where he must have rummaged for something-- she’s guessing the Advil bottle laying on its side. There’s a book on the other half of his bed, open and print down, his reading glasses on the cover. The sight, of which, would have Reid gasping in horror.

She heads in, deeper, headed towards the bathroom attached to his room. There she doesn’t find what she’s looking for. His pills are nowhere in sight but it’s worth her little trip down here.

“Find them,” she asks, coming back to the kitchen.

Dave nods and slides the box to her, allowing her to make her own observations as he continues to talk on the phone.

Wednesday is the last tab open. He hasn’t had any medicine since Thursday. He was at work Thursday when JJ left, the second to last out. She’d stopped in to talk to him about a formality from their last case. Essentially, things are not looking good.

“We’ll find him,” Emily mumbles. She flicks mindlessly at the tab of the organizer and looks up at Dave. “We will, right?”

Dave shrugs. He doesn’t know.

----------------------------------------------

Head hanging between his knees, Hotch leans his temple against his bare knee. Sweat mixes with the dirty water dripping from the roof of the old cellar, it’s hard to tell which is running down his face. He’s stripped to his boxers, left to shiver and suffer through the elements. The cement floor and rock walls sapping what little heat his body can properly offer him.

By now, his letter should have arrived to Dave. That is if he can trust a word the Unsub has said to him thus far. That this whole mess-- mess as if disconnecting them both from his actions-- has nothing to do with Hotch. The Unsub had lifted Hotch’s head, forcing Hotch to look at him, with the edge of a knife.

“This,” he’d sneered, “is about what David Rossi took from me. He took my son and now--” He’d dragged that knife against Hotch’s cheek, almost stroking. “Now, I’m going to take his away from him.”

Nothing personal, the Unsub had promised.

It had felt personal.

A baseball bat coming down over his body, ignoring his pained cried. Not relenting when his arm had broken with a snap, Hotch’s cry rasping as he’d writhed and tried to twist and pull the limb away from the attention of that bat. Only to expose his sides and have the air forced from his body. He hadn’t stopped when Hotch no longer cried out. Going on long after Hotch lay still, breathing a wet rasping, and head rolled to the side to show the whites of his eyes.

Hotch had awoken to a harsh push. Pulled upright by two arms scooping up under his arms and forcing him upright. He couldn’t help the rasped, confused cry he’d let out as his broken arm was pulled up, the pen placed into his palm. “Write.”

He’d blinked blood from his eyes as he slurred out a question. He can’t even remember what it’d been.

“You’re telling David Rossi that it’s going to be his fault when your body shows up on his doorstep.” The Unsub had smiled, running a finger along Hotch’s jaw. “Tell him what I did to you. That you hate him.”

Hotch’s breathing had hitched in his chest. He looked back down at the paper. “I don’t,” he’d slurred and hadn’t even had time to think before his head was roughly pushed into the hard rock wall beside him. Hotch’s eyes had rolled into his head, boding seizing up, and a weak pained sob tearing from his mouth before his eyes had rolled into his back, and he’d gone limp.

Three.

He took three beatings before he caved. Pen to the paper he’d bleed and cried the whole way. Shaking and only half cognizant of himself and his actions. Hopeful his awful handwriting and probable brain damage made his words eligible. That way Dave and no doubt the others might be spared his rampant thoughts.

They hadn’t.

With a crack, the wooden door of the cellar opens and Hotch flinches raising his left hand to protect his eyes from the light that comes in.

“Aaron?”

Hotch pushes himself away from the Unsub. Moving until his back hits the opposite wall. “Please,” he whimpers.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the Unsub promises. He crouches down, squatting. “It’s over,” he whispers. “Just come with me now, son. This last part is going to be fast but it won’t hurt.”

----------------------------------------------

Hotch had gone missing Friday.

Garcia found his car and the tickets it had wracked up in his absence. Right outside the little book shop, he frequents on days off or in-between breaks. Quant and warm. Garcia had watched him take a seat by a window, tears streaming down her face as he opened his book and sipped his coffee. Would this be the last time she ever saw him?

Dave had found a similar solace in the recording. Some street camera that caught the moment.

They’d all stood and watched, transfixed as Hotch finally left that coffee shop. They knew what was going to happen next but they still weren’t ready. A figure came out of nowhere, aiming something low to Hotch’s abdomen whatever was said between the two of them stopped Hotch from moving. He nodded, once and followed the other man.

Then he was gone.

All they have is the letter.

JJ shakes as she reads the words on the page. It’s hard to tell which parts are worse. Hotch’s nonsense rambles, his fragmented thoughts that hardly sound like him at all. The descriptions that he does his best to throw in. Wet, damp, and cold. He doesn’t know where he is just that he’s in pain. His hand trembles too much during certain parts and she can’t even make out the letters. Tears rip and obscure other words. It breaks her heart to think of what he must be going through.

“He’s standing over my shoulder as I write this. Watching me. Three times I have failed to put this off. Three times he has beaten me for my refusal. As he hits me he tells me this is your fault. That it’s as simple as an eye for an eye. You killed his son and he’s getting even. I’m afraid that I’m starting to believe him.”

“He doesn’t mean it,” Derek assures Dave. But Dave isn’t even paying mind to that particular comment. Hotch can hate Dave until one of them dies for all Dave cares but Dave’s going to bring him home. No matter what. What’s bothering him is the statement about Dave killing someone’s son. He’s had to kill many Unsubs over the years.

JJ can’t force herself to continue to voice his words, her scanning the paper as tears make their slow descend across her cheeks. He writes something of Jack, the pen drags and she can’t make out the words just “sorry”, “better father”, and “love”.

When she gives it to Reid, allowing him to make his own inferences (and search for a message in Hotch’s madness that isn’t there) she has to leave the room. Head bowed and heart thundering, she allows her legs to move on command, and before she knows it--

The room smells like Hotch. Rough undertones of mildew, the room’s old and the carpet even older, but Hotch. Moving with a slowness she can’t explain, she pulls in every piece of him she can find in here. Closing her eyes so she can imagine he’s sitting behind that old desk, scribbling away at files. Until she’s standing at the couch. Without a second thought, she climbs onto the stiff thing. Pressing her face into the cushions and pulling the spare blanket he keeps across the back over herself.

What would he say if he saw her now?

He’s unpredictably predictable. Empathy or strength? He’d always had this innate ability to fathom both at any moment. She’d loved that about him. Love, reminds herself. She loves that about him. He’s not gone yet.

“Are you okay?” Reid’s hesitantly standing in the doorway.

From the couch, she can see the twinkle of tears in his eyes. With a smile, she opens the blanket and invites him in. “Come on,” she offers, scooting over just a little bit more. “It’s not like Hotch is here to fuss at us for a little nap.”

Reid looks over his shoulder and comes into the room, pausing as he looks over at Hotch’s desk. “I miss him,” he confesses softly, sitting down on the edge of the couch. He doesn’t say anything JJ scoots up, placing her head on his lap. He pulls some of the blanket to his own lap.

“Me too,” JJ mumbles.

It’s only been a few days. He’s been gone weeks on leave. After Foyet, he was gone an entire month. Then, at least, they could swing by his apartment with pizza or Chinese food and he’d let them in with a tired smile. Softly admonishing them for being there when they should be at home getting some rest. But he’d been there. Readily available for a quick hug or to let them take his couch hostage to spend time with him.

“We’re going to…” Reid’s voice dies out as he second-guesses his question. “He’s going to come back, right?”

JJ closes her eyes.

Her reply never comes.

----------------------------------------------

“Hello?” Dave is heading out to get some fresh air, very aware of the tail he’s accumulated along the way. Emily won’t let him out of her sight but this time it’s Derek’s doing that has her coming along. He doesn’t mind. When he gets the call he doesn’t even break stride.

“David Rossi.”

His pace comes to a dead stop.

Emily, a few feet behind sees.

“You son of a bitch--”

“Now, now,” the Unsub mumbles tsking. “Don’t be like that David. Don’t act like I’m the only bad guy here. Besides, we don’t need poor Aaron hearing language like that.”

Dave glances over his shoulder, spotting Emily and her timid, if not fearful, walk up to him. “What do you want?” Dave asks.

The Unsub chuckles, “you already know, David. Eye for an eye. You took what was mine and now--”

Dave closes his eyes at the sound of a whimper, Aaron.

“Now, I’m going to take what is yours.”

With a shake of his head, Dave says, “he’s not mine! He’s just a colleague. A friend!”

The Unsub hums sadly. “David,” he chides, “don’t lie to me. I watched you. His son comes to your house nearly every weekend. You love him. Tell him.” Hotch cries out in pain, the phone held now to his face as the Unsub grips his hair to keep his head tilted up. “Tell him, David. Tell him that he’s nothing more than a colleague.”

Dave shuts his eyes flinching as his words are repeated to Hotch. Shaking with fury when he can hear those words being used against them both. Drawing whimpers and a single breathless plea from Hotch for the Unsub to stop. “Please stop. Please, just stop.”

“Tell him, David!”

Dave turns his head, finding Emily and her wide sad eyes.

“Aaron?”

“Dave?”

“Hey, son.”

“Dave… he--he’s going to kill me.”

A tear falls down Dave’s cheek. Looking at Emily, he can tell she can hear them. “I’m so sorry, Aaron.”

A sharp cry breaks through the other line. Pained. Strained. Hotch’s plea-- “no! Please!”-- cut off by a sharp crack. Then nothing.

“Please,” Dave grips the phone tight. “He’s got a little boy,” Dave knows he’s playing with nothing here but he has to do something. “His name is Jack, he’s only eight. Aaron, he-- Aaron has to take medicine, already! Please! He’s on blood thinners! You’ll kill him--”

The Unsubs comes back, breathless, and scoffs. “That’s the point David. I’ll talk to you soon.” The line goes dead.

Dave throws his phone to the ground with a shout. “Fuck!” He falls to his knees, head in his hands.

Aaron Hotchner is going to die and it’s going to be his fault.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #david rossi #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #spencer reid #derek morgan #penelope garcia #criminal minds fanfiction #jack hotchner

71 notes · View notes

izzyfandoms · 5 years ago

Text

Buy One, Get Six Free

(Thomas and Remy have been together for a while now, and it’s going well, but there’s one problem. Remy doesn’t know that Thomas has sides.

What happens when Thomas finally tells him the truth? How will Remy react? And will Remy love the sides as much as they love him?)

SHIPS: Sleepmas, Losleep, Sleepality, Rosleep, Sleepxiety, Sleepceit, Dukesleep

WARNINGS: Sympathetic Deceit, Sympathetic Remus, Remus says some mildly sexual/gory things but nothing actually happens

TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @ajdraws0430 @phantomofthesanderssides @creativity-killed-thekitten @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @emo-disaster @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgromlin

Masterpost

Thomas bit his lip, pacing back and forth across the living room floor and wringing his hands. He routinely checked the clock, watching the seconds tick by, getting closer and closer to 2pm. His stomach filled with dread as the sides all watched him walk, a strange mixture of excitement, neutrality, and downright terror.

“Okay… but, like, what if he freaks out?” Virgil spoke up suddenly. “This is a bad idea, one of the worst ideas we’ve ever had. Why are we doing this? We’re just gonna ruin everything. He’s gonna think we’re super weird and dump Thomas immediately, and then we’ll be alone forever.”

Thomas made a pained sound, as did Roman, and Logan sighed.

“Virgil, we don’t know that,” He said calmly. “And, based on prior behaviour, I doubt Remy will react like that. It is more likely that he’ll be confused than anything else. Besides, communication is a necessity in any long-term relationship, it would be unhealthy to keep this from him for much longer.”

Patton nodded eagerly. “Yeah, and Remy loves Thomas, he’s not gonna leave him just ‘cos of this!”

Virgil didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t say anything else, silently chewing his thumb as he sat at the foot of the stairs.

“Do you think he’ll wanna fuck us, too?” Remus grinned, practically bouncing up and down on the spot, and Roman gasped beside him, kicking his brother in the shin.

“Don’t be crude, oh, evil twin of mine, we should focus on the romance!” Roman said. “And, besides, you’re the ugly one, anyway.”

Before this could escalate into a full-on brawl – which it likely would have, given how most arguments with the twins turned out – Deceit intervened, two extra arms appearing at his waist, stretching out and pushing the brothers apart. Fortunately, Thomas was too busy stressing out to notice, or he might have actually thrown up.

All of a sudden, they heard a knock at the door – three raps, and then the doorbell rang.

It was Remy.

Logan straightened up, adjusting his tie. “We’re sticking to the plan,” He said, leaving no room for disagreement. “We’ll all sink out, and then, when Thomas cues us, I will appear, and we will explain the situation to Remy. If he is agreeable, Patton can appear, too, and possibly Roman. We do not want to overwhelm him.”

The doorbell rang again, and Thomas rushed over to the door. He looked back at his sides, watching them all sink out – some wishing him good luck, but most just disappearing without a word – before opening it, and coming face-to-face with his boyfriend.

“’Sup, babe,” Remy greeted, before his brow pinched together, and he tilted his head. “You look stressed. You good?”

“Yup!” Thomas answered, his voice just a little too high, and not convincing either of them.

Remy nodded slowly. “Uh huh… sure. You wanna talk about it?”

“Later.”

His boyfriend didn’t look like he believed that, either, despite it being the honest truth, but he didn’t press, instead lifting the two to-go cups in his hands.

“I brought coffee.”

Thomas smiled genuinely as Remy handed him the cup, taking a large sip with a content sigh, and stepping to the side so his boyfriend could enter the apartment. There were a few moments of silence, and that was when Thomas noticed that Remy was staring at him.

“What?”

Remy let out an exaggerated gasp. “Wow, I’m out here looking like a snack and you’re just not going to kiss me? Rude.”

Thomas couldn’t help but laugh, leaning down and pecking his (short) boyfriend on the lips. When he pulled back, Remy gave him one of those soft smiles that made his heart do cartwheels in his chest (and maybe Patton was doing cartwheels in the mindscape, too, there was really no way to tell).

Remy took Thomas’s hand, tracing random shapes across his palm with his finger.

“So,” He began. “Are you gonna tell me what’s up, or am I gonna have to guess?”

Thomas tried not to panic and freeze at the question, he really did, but Remy noticed anyway, looking back up at him with concern.

“I need to tell you something,” Thomas admitted. “It’s nothing bad, it’s just… there’s something about me that you need to know, and you’re probably gonna want to sit down for this.”

He led Remy over to the couch, and they both sat down.

“I, uh…” Thomas trailed off. He sighed; this was going to be hard to explain. “Just- um…”

He waved his hand, deciding to just rip off the band-aid, without any preamble, and Logan rose up in his usual spot. Remy jolted so hard he almost fell off the sofa, and Thomas only just managed to catch his sunglasses in time, as they’d slipped right off his face. He tried to hand them back, but Remy wasn’t paying attention to him, instead, he was staring at Logan, wide-eyed and perplexed.

After a moment or two, Remy began to look back and forth between Thomas and Logan, as if comparing them, and they waited patiently for him to finish.

“Okay, uh…” Remy said, running his fingers through his hair, messing it up even further. “What?”

Thomas wanted to fix it for him, to pull him close and reassure him that he wasn’t insane, but he was worried that Remy wouldn’t react well, so he resorted to just staring at him instead.

“I am Logan, it is nice to finally meet you,” Logan introduced himself, stepping forward and holding out his hand for Remy to shake.

Remy did so almost immediately, wanting to check if Logan was really there, and looking rather startled when he realised that he was, in fact, real. His hand was soft, just like Thomas’s, though a little bit cooler, and Remy’s touch lingered as he found himself wanting to just keep holding that hand and never let go (like he often felt with Thomas).

Logan’s face had turned pink by the time that Remy pulled away, and he cleared his throat in an attempt to regain his composure.

“I am one of Thomas’s sides, the physical representation of his logical thinking and knowledge.”

Remy nodded along as if he understood. “Uh huh, okay… what does that mean?”

“I’ve found that comparing our situation to that of Riley’s in the movie ‘Inside Out’ is the easiest way to explain it to others,” Logan explained. “Just, instead of emotions, we represent more complex concepts such as Logic, Morality and Creativity.”

“Is that why you made me watch Inside Out with you last week?” Remy glanced at Thomas, and his boyfriend gave him a slightly sheepish smile and a nod.

“You’re taking this remarkably well,” Thomas commented.

Remy shrugged. “This isn’t the craziest shit I’ve ever seen.”

“It isn’t?”

“I’ll tell you ‘bout it later, babe,” Remy said, patting Thomas’s arm. “So, how many sides are there?”

Logan took a step closer. “Right now, there are six of u-”

Before he could finish that sentence, both Patton and Roman popped up in their usual spots, making Remy jump, though he didn’t look nearly as startled as he had when Logan had first appeared. They both looked ecstatic, and, frankly, lovestruck.

“Hi, I’m Patton!”

Patton looked like he wanted to hug Remy – and he did, desperately – but he didn’t want to overwhelm him, so he stayed by the curtains. Roman, apparently, had no such qualms, rushing forward and taking Remy’s hands in his own. This was the first time he was seeing Remy with his own two eyes (not just through Thomas’s), and he was too gay to think straight.

“Oh, my stars, you’re gorgeous!” Roman breathed, and, before he could stop himself, he continued with: “I’m in love with you.”

For a moment, Remy looked surprised, and then his expression melted into the soft smile that he usually reserved just for Thomas. In any other situation, Remy looking at someone else like that would have made Thomas feel jealous, but Roman wasn’t really ‘someone else’, was he? He was a part of Thomas, and if Remy could love Thomas as a whole, which he did, very much, he could love all his different parts, too.

Things were going to be okay.

***

“I do not have any feelings or emotions; I am only in a relationship with you because Thomas is. It just makes logical sense,” Logan said matter-of-factly, adjusting his glasses.

“Sure,” Remy said. “Does that mean you want me to get out of your lap?”

Logan instantly tightened his grip around Remy’s waist, pulling him closer. “Of course not.”

Remy smirked, tilting his head up to look at him. “Aww, does that mean you love me?”

“I do not feel love.”

Remy pouted, and, even though Logan knew it was fake, he still immediately had the urge to take it back, so the smile that he adored would return.

“Okay, fine, I love you,” He admitted.

One of Remy’s hands reached up to carefully cradle Logan’s face, the other resting in the centre of his chest, over his tie – ready to, at any moment, use it to pull Logan closer and capture his lips in a kiss, as he often did.

“I love you, too,” Remy smiled. “My shooting star.”

Logan’s cheeks reddened at the nickname – just like he knew they would – and Remy’s smile widened.

“You’re adorable,” He said.

“Falsehood.”

“You are,” Remy insisted, sitting up straighter so they were almost nose-to-nose, bumping Logan’s glasses. “You.” Kiss. “Are.” Kiss. “Adorable.”

He then kissed him again, this one lingering longer, before Remy finally pulled back. Logan couldn’t help but chase his lips, and Remy smirked again, making Logan blush just a little bit more.

“See,” Remy tucked a stray strand of hair behind Logan’s ear. “Adorable.”

***

“Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Now try this one,” Patton beamed, holding out another cookie just in front of Remy’s lips.

Remy opened his mouth obediently, taking a bite and chewing it slowly.

He and Patton had spent the last few hours baking a variety of sweet treats in Thomas’s kitchen. If you asked Patton, he would say that it was a team effort. If you asked Remy, however, he would say that Patton had done most of the work, as Remy had no idea how to bake. He wasn’t complaining, though, not in the slightest, especially not when Patton came up behind him, covering Remy’s hands with his own to guide him.

Remy swallowed. “It’s good,” He said. “Sweet.” And then he grinned. “Though not as sweet as you, sugar.”

Patton giggled, delighted.

“Not too sweet?” He asked.

“Never.”

Patton laughed again, poking Remy’s nose. “I was talking about the cookie, silly!”

“Oh, yeah, they’re good, too.”

“Do you think Thomas will like them?” Patton asked.

Remy tilted his head, his sunglasses slipping down his nose – revealing his distractingly gorgeous baby blue eyes – as he gave Patton an amused look. His hair flopped to one side, and Patton reached out to fix it.

“I’m pretty sure you know him better than I do, hon.”

“That’s true,” Patton said, before popping the rest of the cookie into his mouth. He chewed slowly, before smiling again. “I think Thomas will like them.”

***

Thomas flung the front door open, smiling when Remy stepped inside, immediately taking Thomas’s hand, squeezing it, and planting a kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek.

“Morning, babe,” He greeted.

“Hey,” Thomas said. “I’ve gotta get back to work now – Logan and Roman are helping me with a new video idea – but Virgil’s out, so you can hang out with him, for now.”

Remy grinned, taking off his sunglasses and placing them on top of his head, knowing full well that Virgil was weak for his eyes, and intending on taking full advantage of that fact. To be fair, all of them loved Remy’s eyes, and, upon seeing them, Thomas couldn’t help but lean down and kiss him properly.

When they pulled apart, Remy stepped around him, into the apartment, strolling over to the couch, where Virgil lay, scrolling through his phone. It didn’t really make sense that Virgil had a phone, but nothing about the sides ever really made sense, so Remy chose not to question it, instead flopping into Virgil’s lap without warning, grinning when the anxious side instinctively sat up, wrapping his arms around him.

“Mornin’, handsome.”

Remy’s smile widened as Virgil’s face turned pink. He remained flustered for another moment or two, before he calmed himself down and rolled his eyes.

“Not a very accurate compliment, babe.”

Remy shushed him, covering Virgil’s mouth with his finger. “Nope, nuh-uh – you can’t insult my boyfriend like that. I won’t allow it.”

Virgil snorted, taking Remy’s hand away from his face and intertwining their fingers.

“Are you just here to keep me distracted so I don’t keep bothering Thomas about the new video idea?” He asked dryly.

“I’m here because I wanna snuggle with my very gorgeous boyfriend,” Remy corrected, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the tip of Virgil’s nose. “And also make out with him. Any distraction from bugging Thomas is just a bonus.”

Virgil rolled his eyes again. “You’ve got seven boyfriends, why choose to sit on my lap?”

“Technically, I only have one boyfriend.”

“Wow, big word. Logan would be so proud of you.”

Remy poked Virgil’s shoulder. “Don’t be rude. And I’m sitting in your lap because I love you and I want to, plus you’re, like, super warm.”

“We’re all warm.” There was a beat. “I love you, too.”

Remy grinned again. “Great. Wanna make out?”

***

Remy absent-mindedly scrolled through his phone. Thomas was upstairs, looking for something, and would likely remain there for another few minutes, at least, so his boyfriend was just looking for a way to pass the time.

Then, suddenly, he heard the familiar whooshing sound that meant a side had just risen up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw light blue, and a bespectacled man standing by the curtains. Remy snorted quietly.

“You know that doesn’t work on me, darlin’.”

Deceit pouted – a very Patton-like expression, most likely deliberate – and then crossed his arms in a manner that was decidedly not Patton, which would have given him away, if Remy hadn’t already seen through his disguise.

“What did I do wrong this time?”

Remy looked up from his phone, giving Deceit a once-over. He then shrugged. “I dunno. You’re just… different, I guess.”

Deceit sighed, running his fingers through his hair, and, in the blink of an eye, he was back to his normal snake-like self, his hat in his hand. He placed it on his head, but, before he could say anything else, Remy had jumped off the couch, reaching up on his tiptoes and plucking the hat back off his head with a grin. He only just managed to run his fingers through Deceit’s hair, which made the lying side smile, as, even though he was the shortest side, Remy was still much shorter than him, which was, honestly, adorable.

“You’re cuter without the hat,” Remy teased, placing it on his own head. “It looks better on me.”

And how was Deceit supposed to not kiss him when he looked like that? Wearing Deceit’s hat and grinning up at him in that way reserved just for them.

He didn’t get the chance to, though, as Remy kissed him first, standing up on his tiptoes and wrapping his arms around Deceit’s neck. Remy tugged him as close as possible, humming quietly against Deceit’s lips.

***

The moment Remy stepped into the apartment, he was swept off his feet, scooped up into Roman’s arms, and twirled around – once, twice, thrice. Remy’s sunglasses almost fell to the ground, but he caught them just in time, tucking them onto his t-shirt collar.

“How are you, on this fine morning, my radiant Sleeping Beauty?”

Remy sighed, wrapping one arm around Roman’s neck, the other hand clutching his half-empty coffee cup.

“Ugh, the barista at Starbucks was, like, so rude to me, this morning,” He complained, pouting slightly, but relaxing. “She just kept glaring at me.”

Roman clicked his tongue, but he couldn’t help but grin.

“Would you like me to fight her for you, my love?” He offered.

Remy snorted. “I’m pretty sure the cops would get called if you showed up at Starbucks with your sword, Prince Charming. Thomas would end up behind bars, and then who would take me into their arms and kiss me every day?”

“That’s the real tragedy,” Roman said, leaning closer to kiss Remy.

“Get a room!” Virgil shouted from the couch.

“You’re just jealous that Remy loves me more,” Roman joked.

Remy stretched his legs, reclining in Roman’s arms. He grinned. “Now, now, boys… there’s enough of me to go around. Besides, I don’t pick favourites.” He paused for a moment. “And, if I had to, I’d pick Thomas.”

Roman stuck his tongue out at Virgil, who rolled his eyes.

“Come on,” Remy smiled at Virgil over Roman’s shoulder. “Aren’t you gonna come give me a kiss, too, gorgeous?”

***

If he had been with anybody else, Remy would have scowled at the loss of his sunglasses. But he was with Remus, and he was used to this, so instead he just smiled, tilting his head up to meet his boyfriend’s eyes.

Remus dropped the sunglasses on the couch beside them, grabbing Remy’s face – a little roughly, but not hard enough to hurt.

“I want to steal your eyes.”

This probably would’ve alarmed Remy, but he was used to this kind of language from Remus, so instead he just laughed quietly, poking Remus’s shoulder.

“I think I’d rather you didn’t, pumpkin,” Remy said. “I kinda need them. How else am I supposed to admire your gorgeous face?”

Remus nodded, humming. “Good point.”

He ran one finger down the side of Remy’s face, the other hand holding his face in place as he stared into Remy’s eyes. Perhaps this should’ve been uncomfortable, but how could Remy feel anything but comfort when he was curled up in Remus’s lap, half under a blanket, with some horror movie that neither of them were paying attention to playing in the background.

“I’m gonna copy them,” Remus decided finally.

“Copy them?”

Remus nodded eagerly, his thumb resting just below Remy’s left eye. “Uh huh! I’m gonna make copies of your eyes that I can keep with me even when you’re not around.” Suddenly, he gasped, and then grinned. “I wonder what they’ll taste like.”

Remy wrinkled his nose. “Gross.”

Remus took that as a compliment, as Remy knew he would.

“Thanks!” He exclaimed, one hand moving to squeeze Remy’s waist, before pulling him into a predictably messy kiss.

***

Remy hadn’t meant to stop in the middle of the hallway, but he was distracted very easily, and, after pausing mid-step to read a text, he ended up standing there for almost five minutes. He didn’t look up when he heard footsteps behind him, and when he felt a hand on the small of his back, he knew exactly who it was.

“Hey, babe,” Remy greeted, his eyes remaining on his phone screen. “Just one sec, I’m arguing with my mom.”

“How can you always tell when it’s me?” Thomas asked.

Remy shrugged, finishing his text, before stuffing his phone back into his pocket. He then turned and wrapped his arms around Thomas’s neck.

“I dunno,” He said. “It’s just… obvious.”

“What, have you got like a… sixth sense for it, or something?” Thomas joked.

Remy laughed. “Nah, I’m just perceptive like that.”

He then kissed Thomas, quick and soft, before pulling back slightly. There was a beat, and then Thomas grinned, a glint that screamed either Remus or Roman – there wasn’t time for Remy to decipher it – in his eyes. Before Remy could question it, Thomas dipped him with a laugh that was absolutely Remy’s favourite sound.

He kissed him again and again and again and then once more on his neck to make him laugh.

“Did Roman tell you to do that?” Remy asked, his sunglasses slipping to reveal eyes that were so bright and happy that Thomas’s heart felt just a little too big for his ribcage.

“I can decide to do things on my own, you know,” Thomas teased.

Remy raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine,” Thomas admitted. “But Roman wasn’t actually the only one telling me to do that.”

“I’m sure.”

A moment passed, and then Thomas’s smile softened. “I love you so much, we all do.”

“I know,” Remy said, one hand moving up to cradle Thomas’s face. “I love you, too.”

990 notes · View notes

peachyteabuck · 5 years ago

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hustle make you high (sub!lance tucker x femdom!reader)

summary: it’s your anniversary, and this is how you and lance celebrate

pairing: sub!lance tucker x femdom!reader

words: 2,395

trigger warnings: femdom, riding, restraints

ask box / masterlist / faq / ko-fi

Lance Tucker is nothing short of an absolute fucking asshole. He’s stubborn, way too observant in the absolute worst way, and blunt to a fault. No matter where he is and what he’s supposed to be doing, Lance Tucker will find a way to tell you why what you’re doing is 1) wrong, 2) that it annoys him, 3) that you’re a terrible person, and 4) that he doesn’t like you.

Anyone who knew Lance Tucker when he was still competing knows that he’s a stuck-up asswipe of a gymnast, and he only got worse when he began coaching. A control freak with a God complex, the man will push any button to remain in charge of any and all situations that he is involved in. The man is focused on his fame (or, more accurately, the perception of fame) than anything else, especially the feelings of other people.

In short, he’s a total, utter dick.

God, you’re totally and completely in love with him.

He’s a fantastic husband in every sense of the word, along with being a wonderful friend. He’s sweet and caring, always putting your needs over his own. He remembers every anniversary, every birthday, every small achievement in relation to your work.

You absolutely fell in love with him on your first date together, it didn’t even take an hour for you to know he was the one. It was a blind date, set up by two of your mutual friends. Well, actually, it was a bet between the two of them. One thought you two would be too different to hit it off, but the second person knew better - much, much better.

On your first date, Lance was a bumbling mess who could barely get out a sentence. It was positively adorable. Lance was chivalrous, sweet. Everything, and you mean everything you had heard about him had been completely and utterly false. He asked you about what you did for work, why you chose your incredibly boring field of a tax law, what it was like, and so on. He took a genuine interest in you, what you did, who you were as a person. It was so completely different from every other guy you’d ever tried to date and it was so refreshing.

When you asked about him, though, he seemed even more nervous than before. He stuttered, and it was obvious he was worried of what you would think of him. When he dropped you off at your house (and walked you to your door - what a gentleman), you kissed him on the cheek and he blushed like a schoolgirl and bit his lip like a teen caught in a massive crush.

You loved it.

Immediately after you got all your makeup off and changed into a more comfortable outfit (your first date had been a fancy dinner halfway across town and all you wanted to do was wear sweatpants, take your bra off, and wear the comfiest/grossest shirt you could find), you scheduled your next date. It was the week after when you met at your favorite small coffee shop right after the lunch rush. You and Lance talked for hours about your lives and what you wanted out of them. You asked him about training and a gym addition he was planning; he asked you about a case you were thinking of taking up. When he had to leave for a night session with a girl who missed the morning one, you went for it and kissed him. Just straight up. He seemed stunned, but after the initial shock wore off he went in for another. It was magical. His hands tenderly placed themselves on your waist, resting on your thick green sweater. You wrapped your arms around his neck, locking him close to you. The only thing that could’ve made it better was if there was a small drizzle of rain, a way to seal the romantic moment.

When you stepped away, the dopey look that flashed on his face made you want even more. You wanted to mess up his perfectly gelled hair and jump his bones.

But you were a lady, and ladies wait until the third date. And, if that third date happened to be less than forty-eight hours later, that’s okay. It was dinner at your place. Normally, you’d mind always making the first move. But something about Lance convinced you that you being a driving force was okay. You guessed that it wasn’t that he didn’t want to initiate a lot of things, it’s just that he was nervous. And if you liked anything, it was making extremely pretty boys extremely nervous. Maybe it was because you’ve always liked control. Maybe it was because your desk job made you feel useless. Maybe it was because things you’ve always liked things that made you feel like you were sexy, a feeling you’ve never really felt before.

Either way, that night, you were getting it. You were determined to fuck him (with his consent…of course…). You didn’t care if that meant some boring missionary shit or you riding his dick and/or his face for two hours; you two were cumming. Together. Coming together.

The meal you had cooked was normally pretty simple, but instead of just roasted chicken slices you cooked an entire one so you could carve it. You thought it would be a good thing to take your sexual frustration on (since you know…large knives and stuff).

The man of the hour arrived at six o’clock sharp, just as you’d instructed him to. It took all of your might not to cum right then and there, not only because he had followed orders, but also because he was punctual. It’s one of your biggest pet peeves - when people don’t show up on time, and it happens all the time at work. The last thing you want is to come home to someone who can’t find a place on time. It sent a shiver up your spine as you wiped your hands on a dish towel before you went to open the door.

Lance was dressed the sexiest you’d ever seen him. His jeans were tight, and his shirt hugged his body like latex. It was white, and you could almost see his obnoxious tattoo through it. It took all of you not to pull him in the door by his neckline and suck him off right then and there. Just a second, Y/N, let the man have dinner first, is all you could do to keep yourself from jumping him right then and there.

Ever the gentleman, he also brought you some flowers.

That’s when you decided to get your power back. As you and him made small talk (he mostly just asked about your home, which you happily answered), you “struggled” to find a vase.

In truth, you know where the want you want is, it’s up high. Despite this, you choose to look through all of the lower cabinets, so you can show off how tight the dress you’re wearing is.

It’s obvious when he catches sight of your ass, because Lance immediately stops speaking. The only sound in the kitchen is the sizzling of green beans. When you turn around, faux-perplexed as to the whereabouts of your favorite crystal vase, Lance is smirking.

“I thought you said the bank turned you down for that loan,” the line is shaky, he’s obviously nervous as he says it. It makes you quiver a little, admittedly. You love making boys nervous.”

You shake your head, confused. “If you’re trying to hit on me by bringing up the worst part of this year…”

Lance immediately backtracks. “No, no I mean, that like they said you didn’t have any…assets…”

That’s when you get it. He’s trying to creatively compliment your figure. You break down giggling, flustered. “That’s…that’s good. I haven’t heard that one before.”

When you finally “find” the vase, you realize it’s a little higher than you remember. You need help reaching it for real…and-

Shit. This isn’t how you planned for the night to go.

“I, uh,” You gulp, turning back around with heat dusting your cheeks. “Can you help me reach the vase?”

Lance laughs and gets up, moving to easily grab what you cannot.

That is the first time you see the now-famous tattoo up close, and the first time you drag his face down to your level so that you can make out with him against your kitchen counter.

Now, after three years of dating and four years of marriage, nothing has changed between you two.

He may have become an incredibly selective and successful coach; you may have become a partner at your firm. You may have moved to a house that’s better for entertaining his gymnasts and your lawyer friends/foes/potential clients. You may have adopted some cats. Everyone may have called you a power couple and banned both of you from drinking at any and all office parties at both of your jobs. Some coworkers may have also had to be convinced not to tell your respective bosses about you making out (and worse) in bathrooms and empty conference rooms and storage closets and each of your offices.

But in your relationship? Nope.

You still absolutely adore each other. Lance still gets those flutters in his stomach that always make him stutter around you. You still love making him nervous. Most importantly, you both still loving having sex. Together. With each other.

Some nights are lighter than others, some require days of planning. You’re (mostly) past hook ups in utility closets, preferring to sleep in your own bed.

Which is why you tease him all throughout dinner, flat out banning him from clearing it of its contents and thereby not allowing him to fuck you on it.

This is likely why when you lure him upstairs and push him onto the bed, he immediately becomes pliant.

It’s cute, almost, the way he’s reacting to your touch, how his breath hitches when your nails trace over his muscles – his shirt long discarded and you looming over him.

“You want me to tie you up, baby?” you coo, heat in your center pulsing as he moans. “You want me to fuck myself down on your cock while all you can do is watch?”

Lance whines high in his throat, nodding.

“Yes, please tie me up,” he moans.

And who are you to deny him?

You abide by his wishes easily, undressing him the rest of the way before tying his arms and legs so that he lays spread-eagle in the center of the bed.

Once he’s secured you strip yourself, removing each item of clothing slowly as he strains his neck to watch you.

“God you’re so beautiful,” he moans. “Please fuck me!”

You smile as – finally – your panties are discarded. Wordlessly you climb over him once more, aligning him with your dripping center, moaning lewdly as he bottoms out.

“Please let me touch you,” Lance groans, pulling at the restraints. “C’mon, let me make you feel good.”

“I’ll think about it,” you mumble breathlessly as you used your hips to grind down onto his cock. “Let me feel you first.”

“God I love your pussy,” he moans, hands flexing in their fixed position. “Fuck it feels so good!”

You giggle, grinding down onto his cock. Maybe it’s because you’ve forced him into abstinence for the past week, maybe it’s because it’s your anniversary and you’ve been stuck in this hazy love cloud for days.

“You want me to untie you?” You ask. Immediately, Lance is moaning and nodding his head deliriously. “You want your hands on me while I cum on your cock?”

“Fuck yes!” Lance begs, fucking harder into you. “God please let me touch you, oh my God.”

You unclick the ankle restraints first, then lean forward to free his wrists, using his chest for balance.

“Your tits look really good at this angle,” he says with one of his big, show-stopping smiles.

You laugh as you readjust, moaning as you slide back onto the cock. “Yeah? They still look good from here, too?”

Lance’s hands roam your body, landing on your ass. “Hell yeah, they do.”

You ride him with everything you have, moaning in tandem with him.

“C-can I rub your clit?” he asks, head thrown back and eyes screwed shut. “Can I please make you cum?”

You smile, tossing your hair to the side and gazing down at him. “Yes, but you can’t cum yet.”

Lance looks pained at not being allowed to cum but remains eager to give you pleasure – sucking his thumb into his mouth before quickly finding the most sensitive part of you.

It doesn’t take long before you’re coming undone with him inside of you – eyes rolling back in bliss.

It’s only when the ringing in your ears stops when you see Lance is nearly lost to his own pleasure.

You smack his right thigh to remind him of his place. “Don’t forget to ask permission, baby,” you hit the left one slightly harder. “It’s our anniversary, but it doesn’t mean our rules have been suspended.”

Lance struggles to swallow before speaking. “Please, can I come? I need to come-“

“Not yet,” you hiss, not letting him finish. You continue to ride him, slowly moving your hips up and down as your eyes roll back once more.

Lance, in all his obedience, could never give up his stubbornness.

“Please!” he cries out, tension in his voice indicating how close he really is.

You smile as you grind down on his cock once more. “Cum.”

His face immediately relaxes, head thrown back and mouth agape as he comes inside of you with moan so loud you worry the glass of water next to the bed will shatter.

“Oh, fuck that feels good,” he says, panting. “Your pussy always feels so fucking good.”

You laugh, also breathless. “I appreciate it.”

It takes a minute for you to find the energy, but eventually to grab a tissue to clean off before crawling back into bed with your husband.

You curl up into Lance’s chest, tracing random patterns into his sweaty skin.

“Happy anniversary, baby,” he says, chest rumbling as he does so.

“Happy anniversary,” you say back, leaving a small kiss over one of his deepest bruises.

#lance tucker x reader #sub!lance #femdom!reader #lukis writes stuff #lance tucker smut #lance tucker fluff #the bronze #the bronze imagine #the bronze smut #this is another oooooold ass wip

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intrulogical · 4 years ago

Text

Instant Coffee & Energy Drinks

author’s note: here’s a little something different from what i usually write. this isn’t too focused on intrulogical but it is set in the same universe as the fics worthy and enough. to understand logan’s dynamic with the light sides, i do recommend reading those fics first (plus i love those two fics so i’d be happy if you’d support them!). this fic, however, is a fic about orange and logan being friends. hope you enjoy, and big thanks to the logangst discord for the support, especially aj, kei, and ellie for beta reading! <3

an important note before reading: orange, to me, represents thomas’s impulsivity/unconscious thinking/beliefs. if i somehow predict his character, then kudos to me, but if i didn’t, don’t get mad.

pairings: Platonic Logan & Orange (original character), referenced Remus/Logan

warnings: morally ambiguous light sides (i think the better term would be critical?), swearing (orange loves to swear), glitching, slight arguing (they make up), and very slight body horror because orange has ten eyes. it isn't too scary, i promise.

word count: 5857

summary: Logan thoughtlessly entered the door with ease, fiddling with a loose NASA sticker on his laptop as he went inside the "Dark" Sides' living room, but he immediately stopped walking once he heard the television on their living room’s wall emit sound.

“Oh. Blue.” The side sitting on the couch while concealed in two blankets spoke.

“Orange.” Logan replied sternly, remaining still as if Orange was a tiger ready to pounce on his prey.

“So this is why Remus said that the living room was off-limits late at night.” Orange deadpanned, all ten of his eyes holding an unimpressed glare. “I thought he created some ugly monster that wandered around our living room that he didn’t want us to see, but it turns out, it’s just you. Not too far off, if I should say so myself.” Orange said grimly, averting his gaze back at what he was watching on the TV.

or,

Logan encounters Orange in the "Dark" Sides' living room late at night and is tempted to watch Buzzfeed Unsolved with him. Problem is: they hate each other... or do they?

(ao3 link)

Originally, Logan viewed the darker side of the Mindscape as a place where he and Remus could spend time together peacefully without worrying about the glitches that invaded Logan’s room or the presence of another “Light” Side witnessing their displays of affection.

Presently, Logan viewed the dark side of the Mindscape as his home.

The acceptance of his presence was gradual, to say the least. Initially, Janus and Orange did not think much of Logan and Remus’s newfound friendship—mostly indifferent but not opposed to them at all. Obviously, Orange and Janus were still their predictable, cynical selves, but when were they never? While their exchanges with Logan weren’t the greatest, as the years passed by, Logan realized their friendships only needed time to develop more.

Janus was someone who Logan could not fully comprehend at all times. Janus often switched from disputing lies to being sarcastic to being genuinely truthful that it instilled some confusion within Logan. Moreover, he learned that Remus wasn’t the only dark-humored side in this Mindscape—Janus was just as ill-natured as him. Logan wasn’t immensely bothered by it—he was in a close relationship with Remus after all—but rather, he was quite amused. Sometimes he would feel insulted, but later on, he understood that it was never Janus’s intention to hurt him. Overall, his relationship with Janus has progressed significantly, and while he can’t say it was perfect, Remus convinced him that if it was good enough for him, then that’s all that mattered.

Orange, on the other hand, perplexed Logan. He continued to be unexplainably brash and aggressive, unhesitantly rude at Logan whenever he passed by him in the living room. While Janus only provided Orange with irritated glares as Remus reluctantly scolded his apathetic behavior, Orange merely shrugged it off. While Logan had the urge to retort at times, he knew it was better to leave him alone rather than aggravate him further. Orange was nonsensical in the worst possible way, and as each other’s foils, it was to be expected that they wouldn’t have gotten along much.

But Orange was the only aspect of his visits that he would’ve dubbed as negative. It didn’t lessen the fact that he still enjoyed his constant stays and sleepovers. With how his relationship with the “Light” Sides deteriorated drastically over the past several years and how the glitches in his room were as bothersome as ever, Logan felt even more compelled to visit the darker side of the Mindscape. It felt like an obligation, an absolute necessity at this point, and while he didn’t understand why he felt so urged, he didn’t find a reason for him to question it.

(Actually, it was a slight lie that Logan didn’t understand why he felt urged. He might’ve known that this could’ve been connected to this unfamiliar, unsettling sensation that has recently festered within him for the past days. He might’ve had a suspicion that this newfound sensation was signalling his eventual transition to the “Dark” Side, but Logan pretended that he didn’t know. The idea itself was making him and Remus incredibly anxious, so he liked to push away the thought. He acknowledged that he could not suppress the thought for too long, but with how distressing the idea was, Logan would’ve preferred to distract himself from that thought for now.)

On this night in particular, Logan was unable to sleep due to how unbelievably erratic his room’s glitches were. At some point, Logan understood that the glitches were controllable, yet he hasn’t mastered how to manipulate the polygons’ intensity. Sometimes, his efforts were successful, enabling him to make the glitches become less seizure-inducing, but on unfortunate nights like these, the glitches only spasmed twice as much.

This prompted Logan to sluggishly get out of bed, grab his laptop and glasses, and head out of his room. He was grateful that he at least had full control over the glitches infecting his body after much hard work and practice. While he was incessantly disregarded by Thomas, his role as Logic still persisted, and productivity was always a must for him. That’s probably why he practiced manipulating the glitches on his body in the first place.

Regardless, Logan made his way to the “Dark” Sides, trying his best not to produce any noise as he walked through the Mindscape’s hallways— God-forbid he awoke any “Light” Side up when he wholeheartedly did not want to confront them at all. Then again, Logan suspected that they all had an idea about his whereabouts by this point, but he still loathed the idea of getting into another damn argument with them. All his calculations point to a high chance of them berating him excessively, hollering manipulative threats at him, coaxing him with their empty promises—in summary, there were lots of negative possibilities Logan would rather avoid.

Eventually, after much cautious tiptoeing, he arrived at the “Dark” Sides’ part of the Mindscape. Their door was at the bottom of a staircase that was hidden at the corner of their hallways, intentionally placed there by the obvious. Before Logan constantly visited the place, the staircase was coated with dust and spiderwebs due to how unused it was. Despite the unkemptness, the “Dark” Sides always remained fashionably classy, as expected. The staircase was covered with a red carpet with golden linings with intricate swirls and scrolls decorating the edges. Moreover, while their door was merely made out of cherry wood with no other colors painted on it, there were intriguing floral carvings on both the center and the edges of the door. While it was quite simple, the minimalist design made the door look ravishingly exquisite.

Logan almost laughed at the thought of their flamboyancy—sure, the sides were cynical, but at least they were doing it in style.

By this hour, Logan expected all of the “Dark” Sides to be preoccupied in their rooms. Sometimes they were asleep, sometimes they were up doing God-knows-what, but they usually spent the night having some “alone time”.

Knowing this, Logan thoughtlessly entered the door with ease, fiddling with a loose NASA sticker on his laptop as he went inside, but he immediately stopped walking once he heard the television on their living room’s wall emit sound.

“Oh. Blue.” The side sitting on the couch while concealed in two blankets spoke.

“Orange.” Logan replied sternly, remaining still as if Orange was a tiger ready to pounce on his prey.

Logan opened his mouth, urging to retort, but instead, he shook his head and decided against it. Thankfully, Orange didn’t catch him doing so, otherwise he would’ve come back with an insult twice as hard as the one he just stated.

Logan had two clear options here: 1.) Retreat and return to the “Light” Sides’ area and risk getting made fun of by the others when they see his pathetic frame lying on the couch; or 2.) Ignore the presence of Orange begrudgingly, conjure up some headphones, and do his work silently in their kitchen. There were also less brilliant ideas he didn’t want to consider like bothering Janus and Remus when he really didn’t want to be an annoyance to them, and another was telling Orange to leave which is not only very unbecoming of him, but also is something that wouldn’t even work at all. More than anything, he expected Orange to nonchalantly throw the TV’s remote at him violently if he did that, so he crossed out that option.

Option one was something completely unideal, especially when the “Light” Sides’ living room provided him with so much discomfort. Additionally, he didn’t want to encounter any of the other “Light” Sides at all, partially because he had literally forgotten how to converse with any of them normally without pretending he was something he was not, and partially because he didn’t think he could handle witnessing any disappointed glares coming from from them.

Option two was not as great either, but it was probably the more bearable choice. While Orange was undeniably frustrating, as long as he conjured up some headphones and blocked out any of the noise, Orange wouldn’t be much of an issue. His jeers did not hurt as much as the pretentiousness the “Light” Sides wielded whenever they interacted with Logan anyway.

Logan took a sharp, silent inhale—Option two it was.

There was a regular, simple routine Logan practiced on nights like these, and Orange’s presence made no difference in the process besides the addition of headphones. Logan approached the kitchen casually, placing his laptop on the table, turning it on immediately. As he waited for his laptop to set up the typical programs he needed to get to work, Logan borrowed Janus’s coffee machine and one of Remus’s mugs to provide himself enough coffee to keep him awake through the night. His past self would be dismayed by his horrendous sleeping schedule, but being exposed to Remus meant he had become less uptight as time passed by. Once the coffee began to brew, he’d grab a stool for himself and started working.

Logan was never flooded with work to do nowadays, usually assigned to organizing memories and distributing the thoughts Thomas had to other sides, but that can only be accomplished if he remained in his room. Without his room, he only had Thomas’s life plans and schedules to formulate, and while he was fully aware that Thomas was a spontaneous person more than anything else (thanks for that, Orange), Logan still believed there needs to be at least some order to uphold. Because of Thomas’s disregard for plans and Logan’s desperation for Thomas to at least follow one plan, this resulted in Logan making not one, not two, not ten, not fifteen, but twenty plans, hoping at least one of them piqued Thomas’s interest.

Schedule-making was enough work to distract him for the night, and usually, he would’ve been finished by the time Remus and Janus would’ve awoken. He just hoped that his lofi music was enough to block out the noise coming from the living room and ignore the tenseness that had accumulated due to Orange and Logan having to share the same room together.

Luckily, Logan was very competent, not usually distracted by anything as long as he had something productive to do. He felt like his body went on autopilot whenever he worked, his mind unwaveringly focused on whatever needed to be completed. His music and his incredibly bitter beverage should’ve been enough to make his productivity undeterrable.

After what seemed to be like half an hour, Logan had completed two possible schedules to use. They weren’t too difficult to make since the “Light” Sides’ idiocy was shamefully predictable, but knowing how they liked to fuck with Logan anyway, he didn’t feel safe with merely two outputs. His night seemed to progress smoother than ever, Logan feeling unexpectedly at ease despite the circumstances.

Before Logan could begin with the next possible schedule, he stretched his limbs wearily, cracking his knuckles to relieve the pain that started accumulating on his wrists and lower back. Logan knew he should’ve convinced Janus and Remus to replace these backache-inducing seats with something more manageable, but upon hearing his request, Janus immediately declined, saying the design of their entire kitchen would be too off without the stools.

Regardless, Logan took this moment to glance away from his laptop screen to make sure he wouldn’t end up cross-eyed by the end of the night. He observed his surroundings as he looked away. The kitchen was predictably chic and spotless save for the overly decorated fridge and scratched cabinets—Logan and Remus’s plate throwing from a few weeks back had dealt some minor scratches on the cherry wood kitchen cabinets and it was an understatement to say that Janus was pissed upon seeing the damage.

The fridge, on the other hand, was decorated with pictures Logan had already seen before. There were many moments wherein Logan inquired Remus about certain parts of the fridge, since most of the papers that were stuck onto it seemed to tell some kind of story. Logan’s inquiries eventually became a game between him and Remus wherein if Logan was able to make Remus laugh in some peculiar way, then Remus would have answered one question Logan had about the pictures. While it was quite a hassle at first, Logan eventually succumbed to how undeniably fun it was, and eventually, Logan learned a lot about the “Dark” Sides’ familial chemistry.

Some attachments buried within the heaps of papers were old drawings that came from Virgil, or pictures they had that included him (they were at the bottom of all the papers for a reason), and some of the more recent drawings came from Remus. While some were incredibly gory, there were some Logan would’ve considered to be lovely. There was a drawing of Janus and Orange falling asleep on the couch together with the word “Loser” written on it, and there was even a drawing of Janus’s pet snakes that was downright adorable.

Besides the drawings, there were also many, many polaroid pictures and sticky notes. While some pictures were candid photos from Remus, some were undeniably sweet. Logan would’ve even considered that the “Dark” Sides’ bond was even stronger and more genuine than what Logan has seen with the “Light” Sides.

The sticky notes were what caught his eye the most though. While the pictures and drawings don’t get maneuvered often, the sticky notes are replaced almost daily. There were three pads of sticky notes attached onto the fridge: one yellow, one green, and one orange. A pen was also magnetically stuck onto the fridge for convenience. Some of the sticky notes that are on the fridge are simple reminders: “Remus don’t eat the trash”, “Janus please feed Cthulhu”, or “Don’t let Thomas’s beliefs overwhelm you, Orange”. Some of them were comedic jokes: “I’m SO HOT —Remus”, “Yea but Jesus is hotter”, and “Would you two shut the fuck up for five seconds”.

And the ones that intrigued Logan the most were the more apologetic and emotional messages: “I won’t ever leave you two alone. I promise”, “I’m sorry for being mad at you, Remus. Please talk to me if you can”, or “I could never be mad at any of you all”. The first one seemed to have been placed a year ago, possibly after Lee and Mary Lee’s wedding, the second was undoubtedly a note from Orange that seemed to have been written recently, and the third was from Remus in reply to Orange. Logan assumed they were addressing what happened a few weeks ago prior to Logan and Remus’s infamous plate throwing.

Huh, so they did work things out in the end, Logan thought, averting his gaze from the fridge to glance at Orange. Orange still seemed unbothered by Logan, deeply engrossed in whatever he was watching. Come to think of it, Logan didn’t even check what he was watching in the first place, so while lowering his headphones, he risked checking at what was being displayed on the living room’s flat screen TV.

“He probably fucks the dolls—can I say that?”

“Wha—who—I thought you would have like, some respect for this place, but--”

“Nope. Went in straight with ‘He fucks the dolls’.”

Logan blinked once, then twice. Orange was watching Buzzfeed Unsolved. Logan let out a soft, amused chuckle as he watched the people on the screen clumsily traverse a haunted island adorned with an array of differently-styled, creepy dolls.

Logan was not one who usually watched any entertainment-focused YouTube channels; he thought most were terribly ludicrous and unimpressive. He was the stereotypical introverted nerd who’d rather watch Crash Course for the nth time or make a playlist full of his favorite sophisticated Ted-Ed videos. And then, a few years ago, a few days after Virgil was accepted into their family, he introduced Logan to the Buzzfeed Unsolved series. Logan was absolutely hooked.

While he used to binge the show with Virgil back in the day, he rarely got to watch it nowadays. He acknowledged that he could still watch the newer episodes by himself, but it felt slightly awkward and less exhilarating to watch it with no companion to accompany him, so he avoided it altogether. There was a time he tried recommending the show to Remus, but Remus informed him that he leaned more towards cosmic horror-centric, gory films, which is why the show never appealed to him at all. Logan couldn’t have blamed him though—the movies he ended up watching with Remus were still quite enlightening. (Hereditary, Gerald’s Game, Midsommar, and Cube, just to name a few.)

Seeing the show again made Logan smile in fondness, making him reminisce the good old days when he deemed Virgil as a trustworthy friend.

Then immediately, Logan snapped out of his trancelike state, refocusing his attention on his work. Knowing Orange's short tempeedness, Logan really shouldn’t be gazing at his direction at all costs. Moreover, there were still some more schedules to organize and proofread, so he really couldn’t afford to be distracted.

Sighing, he began creating a new spreadsheet.

While Logan tried his best to concentrate on the task at hand, his eyes seemed to involuntarily gaze back at the television screen. It didn’t take long for his fingers to begin to slip clumsily as he typed, making the words he imputed look like utter gibberish. He clicked his tongue agitatedly, mildly disappointed at his unintentional sloppiness as he furiously typed to correct his mistakes.

He really tried, he really, really tried to complete the spreadsheets, but even if he was increasing the volume of his lofi music to an absurdly unhealthy amount, his mind kept drifting back at the show being watched. So much for being usually undistracted.

After five minutes, the schedule was coated with too many errors that he decided to scrap it and redo everything.

After ten, his mind didn’t seem to generate any useful ideas to replace the previous drafts.

After fifteen, he exasperatedly pushed his laptop away for a few seconds, frustrated at his inability to focus.

After twenty, he tried working again. He seemed to regain momentum once again.

After thirty, his newfound focus was deterred once more when he caught a glimpse of the next episode Orange chose to watch. It was Buzzfeed Unsolved True Crime.

Now his concentration was really thrown off.

As a shameless fan of Sherlock and murder investigations in general, it would be obvious that he preferred the series revolving around true crime over the supernatural. So now, Logan was pretty much conflicted, unsure of whether to continue organizing schedules or to merely give up and watch the show from afar.

Logan sighed, turning off his laptop’s power. Fuck it, he thought, I could just do it tomorrow.

After forty minutes, Logan’s focus was entirely on the show, eyes shifting from Orange to the TV just to make sure Orange doesn’t catch him.

After fifty, he realized he was downing on his coffee unconsciously, noticing his pitcher was already half empty.

After fifty-five minutes, Logan was beginning to watch comfortably as it seemed that Orange did not notice him at all.

After an hour, Logan thought everything was going to go smoothly as he watched quietly, but Orange unpredictably spoke up.

“You get a better view of the TV if you sit on the couch, y’know.” Orange said, almost making Logan jolt. Instead, Logan gazed at Orange in perplexion, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“I—what?” Logan murmured, unsure if Orange was actually being nice or Logan was hallucinating the scenario. He heard a weary sigh coming from Orange as he paused the video, whipping his head around to look at Logan with an unimpressed glare from all ten of his eyes. Logan almost grimaced at how unsettling Orange was from afar but managed to suppress his slight fear before he could’ve potentially provoked Orange.

“I said, you can sit on the couch with me, moron,” Orange chided.

“You’re being hospitable?” Logan replied in disbelief, earning an irritated huff from Orange as he turned away.

“God, you’re a prick,” Orange hissed, “I’m trying to be nice because of Remus’s sake, why are you making this so difficult?” Orange added, causing Logan’s confusion to dissipate.

Of course this is all Remus’s doing, he thought, actually slightly impressed by Orange’s attempt of being nice.

“Are you going to be an ass and sit there--”

“No, no, I’ll join you.” Logan told him, grabbing his pitcher of coffee and his mug haphazardly as he approached Orange with slight hesitance.

Orange was still wrapped up like a burrito within his two thick blankets, one of them with ghosts imprinted on them (if Logan remembered correctly, then this was probably Remus’s) and the other with a dove pattern on them. Logan didn’t know how he missed this an hour ago but there seemed to be a popcorn machine on Orange’s left side that was filled to the brim with cheese-flavored popcorn. Logan didn’t understand why he needed an entire machine when Orange could’ve simply summoned popcorn out of thin air, but in the back of his head, he heard Janus’s voice whispering about how the “Dark” Sides liked to do things in style.

Anyway, Logan settled his pitcher on the coffee table and held the mug close to him as he sat on the opposite end of the couch from Orange. He was about three to five meters apart from the other side, enough to not make the atmosphere even more tense than it already is. Either way, Orange pressed play after he eyed Logan suspiciously, and the video continued playing.

Even if Orange was temporarily being courteous for the night due to Remus’s persistence, Logan was still significantly skeptical about Orange’s uncharacteristic kindness. Logan had repeatedly seen Remus scold Orange for his uncivil behavior around Logan in the past, but Remus’s words barely made a dent on Orange’s unfaltering ego. It was quite questionable that Orange would have a change of heart now. Then again, Logan was very much aware of Remus and Orange’s quarrel from a few weeks ago, so this might’ve been part of an agreement for Orange to make up to Remus.

Logan sipped his coffee—he would never get a chance to fully comprehend Orange, would he?

“Blue,” Orange spoke again, catching Logan off-guard, “Are you a Boogara or a Shaniac?” Orange asked, uncharacteristically polite once again. While Logan was still practically confused by Orange’s decency, he decided not to question it further. If he was being nice, then Logan should’ve just allowed it to happen. Wasn’t that what he wanted all along, anyway?

“Ah, well,” Logan began, “While I am a skeptic myself--”

“Predictable.”

Logan rolled his eyes, “As I was saying, while I am a skeptic myself, I disapprove of the brashness present in Shane’s counter arguments. In my humble opinion, I resent his subjectivity and senselessness, because if he were a rational skeptic, then he should at least be open minded whenever he is presented with heavily supported arguments.” Logan explained matter-of-factly, adjusting his glasses while doing so, “While I do not believe in the paranormal or the supernatural in any sense, I immensely appreciate Ryan’s unwavering reliance on factual evidence, so I suppose I am more inclined to be a supporter of Ryan than of Shane. I am assuming you’d be a Boogara as well due to him being a believer?”

“What? Of course not.” Orange replied, causing Logan to feel mildly peeved, “Ryan’s too stiff, too boring. He’s such a know-it-all—kinda reminds me of you, Blue.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Logan said sternly, “So, you’re a Shaniac?”

“Hell yea,” Orange said proudly, “Someone who ventures into haunted places fearlessly and even has fun with the demons? My kind of guy.” Orange told him smugly, only for Logan to be even more displeased.

“He doesn’t even believe in ghosts—he’d loathe you.”

“And Ryan would hate you too.”

“I wouldn’t completely dismiss Ryan’s claims, so he wouldn’t hate me. I envision that Shane would be displeased by your irrational beliefs and impulsivity.”

This time, Orange sneered at him.

“What?” Logan asked, “I’m simply dispensing the truth.”

“‘Ah, of course, Blue. Thanks for bringing up how you hate everything I stand for for the hundredth time, moron.”

This cued the silence to return between them as they continued watching the video uncomfortably. Orange was visibly inching away from Logan even more, burying himself further into his blankets. There was a nagging feeling within that told him there must’ve been something going through Orange’s mind that he was trying to keep hidden. Naturally, Logan and Orange weren’t that close, but Logan admitted that he might’ve been slightly concerned for Orange’s odd attitude.

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Logan eventually said, earning a glare of suspicion from Orange.

“Upset? By you? I would never be,” Orange snarled. Logan acknowledged that while he wasn’t familiar with Orange all too well, he at least knew he was a terrible liar. “I am impulsive, I am an angry little bitch of a gremlin, I am contradictory and nonsensical, you’re absolutely fucking right.”

Logan narrowed his eyes at Orange cautiously—his statement stenched far too much of self-deprecation and defensiveness. Logan was uncertain of why Orange was acting so odd at the moment, but Logan was seeing a hint of insecurity seeping through the aggressive facade. It kind of reminded him of someone else he knew.

“Orange, I wouldn’t qualify us two as close friends--we would probably barely even qualify as acquaintances--but I can’t help but notice that you’re acting slightly off--”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, moron,” Orange interrupted him, “Don’t try playing with me here. We aren’t ‘barely acquaintances’—I would rather much call it ‘strangers who are forced to get along because of Remus’. You’re still a bitch, I’ll still forever think of you as a bitch, and I am not inclined to say anything more about what I’m feeling to you.”

“So you admit you’re feeling something…?”

“...Fuck you.” Orange retorted, “I’m not saying anything. Fuck, you know me as someone contradictory and irrational— hell, I’m even more nonsensical than Remus. Nothing I do should make any sense, so stop trying to act like there’s something wrong going on. I invited you to sit with me just because Remus told me to be nicer to you, but that’s it. You’re not getting anything else from me, jerk, so how about we both sit in silence as we watch the show, yeah?”

“That is slightly contradictory because you were the one who initiated the conversation, but if you want me to be silent, then I don’t mind at all. Still, if you want to discuss whatever is on your mind, my offer still remains. As Thomas’s beliefs and impulsivity, I don’t think it’ll be healthy for you to suppress any of your feelings.”

“You’re such a goddamn hypocrite, holy hell,” Orange retorted angrily, “Also, I know I’m contradictory, Blue, stop rubbing it in my fucking face! You can’t act all high and mighty when you’re going to lose your damn ‘Light’ Side title in a week and replace my entire goddamn existence!”

Silence. Orange had visibly covered himself even more with his blankets, avoiding Logan’s worried gaze. Logan understood that, just like Remus, Orange was incapable of lying or keeping his thoughts to himself, so he did expect an outburst from him. What he didn’t predict was, well, that.

“Firstly, I’m never going to replace you, secondly, how did you know I was—er, becoming a ‘Dark’ Side?” Logan asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Have you even looked at the mirror lately? Of course you’re becoming a ‘Dark’ Side.” Orange explained, referencing Logan’s glitches while he still looked away, “... and I overheard Janus and Remus talk about it a while ago over dinner.”

“Oh.” Logan murmured, “But that doesn’t explain the part where I’m supposed to replace you. Did Remus and Janus imply you were going to be replaced? Because if they did, I assure you, they aren’t--”

“Stop trying to assume you know what’s going on when in reality, you really fucking don’t.” Orange snarled at him. “You’re going to share a fucking space with me, and it sucks because I’m already the side who isn’t listened to the most. When you move in, I can guarantee it—you’re just gonna suppress me even further now that you can have better access to me, you’re going to steal the only job I have in this damn Mindscape, and then poof, I’ll disappear into oblivion.”

Logan stared at Orange in disbelief, mouth slightly agape at his explanation. Then, he shut his mouth, knitting his eyebrows even closer together.

If Logan was going to be brutally honest—that was the most flawed argument he has ever heard in his life.

“Orange, I only mean well when I say that that is the most nonsensical thing you’ve said tonight.”

That, at least, brought Orange out of his hiding place a bit more as the enraged expression on his face softened significantly.

“I admit, while I don’t particularly agree with everything you suggest, I do think that you are a vital side to Thomas just as much as the other sides are.”

Orange, with an unfazed look, chuckled at Logan cunningly. “Oh, really now?”

“Orange, while I am not usually for impulsive decisions, you are the cause of some good decisions Thomas has made in his life. I think of you as the motivation behind Thomas’s unending kindness, or the reason why he is so vigilant. While the ‘Light’ Sides control Thomas’s decision-making, you’re technically their motivator. You make them do what they think is the most beneficial for Thomas, even if they don’t credit you at all. Additionally, my presence here might imply that Thomas might actually begin listening to you more since, well, he loathes my entire being.”

“So you’re saying it’s my fault that you’re being pushed down here?”

“No! I—I apologize if I made it sound like I was blaming you, I didn’t intend to make it come off that way--”

“I’m just playing with you, don’t worry,” Orange said, his tone being much calmer than it was a few moments ago. “But honestly… that’s probably the nicest thing someone has said to me in years. And out of everyone, I didn’t expect you to be nice to me. I mean, how do I know you’re not just manipulating me, hm? For all I know, after five minutes, you might just shoot me dead and take my form.”

“Well, it’s completely normal that I won’t fully earn your trust at this very moment, but I assure you, I do not want to steal your form. I don’t want to imagine what it’s like to have ten eyes, nor do I want to take your job as Beliefs. I don’t think we’re even capable of stealing other people’s bodies here.”

Orange grinned at him, “Damn, all this time, I thought you were a massive bitch, but now I know you’re just partly a bitch.” Orange stated, making Logan chuckle, “I guess you’re not as bad as I expected you to be.”

Logan let out a chuckle, “Same as you.”

“I explained why I was trying, emphasis on trying, to be nice to you, but why the fuck are you trying to be nice to me?” Orange asked, prompting Logan to merely shrug.

“Human decency, I suppose,” Logan told him, “I admit that I am quite the ruminator but I can’t stay unprofessional with you forever. You already know that I’m inevitably going to become a ‘Dark’ Side, so I’m taking this opportunity to fix our immature relationship.” Logan said.

Logan saw Orange smile a bit, “Thank you, I guess. I’ll allow that reasoning for now, Blue.”

“Logan. Just call me Logan.”

“Hm,” Orange replied, “Then, in that case, call me B.”

Logan looked at him confusedly, “B?”

“B, like, for Beliefs. No way am I telling you my real name yet, moron.”

“Fair enough, B.” Logan said as the corners of his lips irked upwards at B.

At some point, the episode they were watching finished in a rather abrupt manner. To be fair, some episodes of True Crime weren’t the most polished as some of the cases they decided to cover were too mundane. Logan poured himself some more coffee as Orange grabbed the remote.

“Are you down to watch the entire series tonight?” B asked him, actually looking at him this time, and a bigger smile appeared on Logan’s lips.

“Of course,” Logan said, “If you want, I can prepare you some coffee if it’ll help you remain awake.”

B waved a hand at him dismissively, “Coffee ain’t it, sis,” he said, conjuring something up. “Red bull is the real shit,” Orange added, pulling the tab on the can. “First one to fall asleep will have to feed Remus’s pet Cthulhu.”

“Game on.”

“Holy shit.”

“What? Did Cthulhu wreck the living room agai—Holy shit.”

As sunlight began seeping through their windows, it would’ve been expected for Remus and Janus to be awake at this point. Oddly enough, they were the first sides in the Mindscape to wake up despite their awful sleeping schedules.

“Damn, Remus. Didn’t think your boyfriend would cheat on you with our local gremlin.” Janus joked as he proceeded to descend the stairs nonchalantly, eyes still fixated on the unexpected scene in the living room.

Remus, on the other hand, cackled at Janus’s comment, but was still stunned and pleasantly surprised at the scene. On the couch, Logan was sleeping in an upright position, head tilted backwards as a bit of drool was slipping out of his lips. Beside him was an empty pitcher of coffee that dangerously laid on the couch, ready to roll off at any moment. Surprisingly, B was fast asleep as well, head laying on Logan’s lap as piles of Red Bull cans surrounded him haphazardly. The television screen was paused as the message ‘Press a button if you want to continue watching’ was plastered on it, suggesting that the two had fallen asleep some time ago.

“And you were worried they wouldn’t get along,” Janus spoke from the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of wine from one of the cupboards. Remus rolled his eyes at Janus’s obsession with alcohol but didn’t comment on it as he himself had weirder tastes in food compared to him.

Remus eventually descended the stairs as well, gazing at Logan and B one more time with a satisfied grin before joining Janus in the kitchen, “Well, I’m glad I’m wrong for once in my life.”

#sanders sides #logan sanders #orange sanders #fanfiction #my post #remus sanders #janus sanders

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jenoptimist · 5 years ago

Text

prompt:

“I’ve been madly in love with you for years but I said something terrible when I was drunk and now you won’t even look at me and no one will tell me what I said” AU

–

The words swirled around your mind, vividly remembering the contempt in his voice. Before the incident, when people would say that drunk words are sober thoughts, you didn’t believe it–thought that it was ridiculous, that there was no way it was true. However as you laid in bed, plagued by the events that ensued during the night, you began to think that maybe you were in the wrong for believing it to be untrue.

The pounding headache that Johnny woke up to was expected. The previous night was wild–so wild, in fact, that he had drank one shots too many and completely blanked about what happened. He assured himself that it was a great night even though there were remnants of regret in his mind as he sluggishly prepared himself for work. A strong, black coffee to-go would have to do the trick, seeing as he had no time to make hangover soup.

The loud chatter in the office became subdued when he stepped in, although the tall man barely noticed it as he took a sip of his steaming beverage. There were a million thoughts going through his mind–mainly increasing regret for not calling in sick for work. But alas, there he was in his cubicle just about making it through the skin of his teeth.

Normally, he would greet you excitedly and proceed to annoy you throughout the day. Unfortunately that wouldn’t be the case that morning considering how he was feeling, although he loved when you took the bait because your reactions were always the best, but he supposed that he could a manage a quick ‘hello’ as he waited for his computer to buffer.

With another swig of his coffee, he swung his eyes from the desktop in front of him to his above his monitor where he knew you would be directly facing him–looking beautiful as always. Instead of being graced by your presence, however, he found himself staring at an empty seat. Frowning, he looked to his left.

“Hey Jaehyun,” his friend hummed, eyes glued to the screen as he typed ferociously. “Where’s y/n?” The question had Jaehyun’s fingers faltering. He glanced at Johnny for a split second before refocusing his gaze onto his screen, clearing his throat.

“They haven’t arrived yet.” He began typing again as he added uncertainly, “I think they called in sick.” Johnny’s frown deepened. For as long as he had worked with you, you have never called in sick. Not even when you were seriously ill with the flu, your eyes watery and swollen as you sniffled profusely–you were sent home that day, of course, but he found it inspiring that you still came in despite your condition.

“Oh,” he replied, “that’s weird. Are they alright?”

Jaehyun shrugged at him in a non-committal manner in return, grumbling something about needing to finish the report he was working on so Johnny could you please leave me alone, thank you. Deciding to do his own work, he left his friend to work on his task in peace.

Midway through his own report, as he finished his third cup of coffee for the day, he was undeservingly blessed by the sight of you while you settled into a comfortable position on your seat. Even though you looked as if you had gotten the shortest amount of hours of sleep, Johnny still thought you looked like a vision in your monochromatic office attire.

“Hey y/n!” He welcomed brightly, internally wincing at the sound of his voice. One would think that after the amount of caffeine he has had that he would be much more awake and alert than earlier. Well, one would think wrong–he still felt as terrible as he did that morning. In fact he felt even worse but seeing you made him feel a little bit better, the office just wasn’t the same without you to banter and suffer with.

When he received no reply from you, not even the slightest bit of acknowledgement, the smile was wiped off of his face. Perplexed, he continued to chat incessantly at you. When he came to the conclusion that his attempts were fruitless, he decided to tease you about some stuff from your high school and college years. Frustratingly, you didn’t rise to the bait. Instead you carried on as if you didn’t hear him. Heck, you didn’t even raise your eyes to look at him! Not even when he threw scrunched up paper your way. Eventually he gave up, knowing when to quit. Perhaps you were just tired–he knew the feeling so he wouldn’t hold it against you.

After Johnny saved his work, he stretched out his arms as he yawned. Finally, after four hours of torture, he could go on his break. From the lack of typing over on your side of the cubical, he assumed that you were heading over to the canteen for your break as well. However before he could even sound out a letter, you were already zooming away. All he could do was watch as you ran over to where Doyoung and Jungwoo were waiting by the elevator. Johnny was taken aback when Doyoung glared at him icily the moment they met eyes. He searched his brain for anything he did that would warrant Doyoung to look at him like that, but nothing came up. He and Doyoung were normally on good terms, too, so it didn’t make much sense for him to suddenly look at him as if he wanted to burn him to a crisp.

“Alright boys,” Johnny said as he dropped his tray of food. Taeyong, Yuta and Jaehyun stared at him, waiting for him to finish his sentence as he settled in while they chewed on their food. “Tell me the truth, did I do or say anything weird last night?”

There was a strange moment where it was as if the three of them held their breaths and he would have chalked it up to his fatigue, if not for the way they exchanged shady glances with one another. None of them seemed willing to be forthcoming about the information he needed, though, choosing to remain mute. The longer the silence continued, the more his internal fretting increased. Oh God. He did do something, didn’t he? Hopefully it wasn’t anything too embarrasing.

“Well,” Yuta finally spoke, “it depends on what you define as weird.” He said the words slowly, like he was choosing his words carefully.

“Oh you know,” Johnny snuck a glance at your direction. You sat with Doyoung, Jungwoo and that new guy, Lee ‘call me Mark’ Minhyung. He greedily took in your appearance as you threw your head back while you laughed before turning back to face his friends. “Declare my undying love for them, or something, no biggie.”

“No,” Taeyong said, “you didn’t say anything like that.” Although Johnny felt himself sag in relief, thanking the skies above that he didn’t do anything of the sort, he noticed how shifty Taeyong was being which made him narrow his eyes every so slightly.

“You’re lying,” Johnny said as he looked Taeyong up and down, “you’re being too”–he waved a hand at his friend’s general direction–“weird.”

The response was immediate. “No I’m not,” Taeyong glanced quickly at Yuta and Jaehyun, “right guys? I’m not being weird at all.”

Jaehyun snorted, stuffing his face with food as he rolled his eyes. “Look,” he said, his mouth full of food while he addressed Johnny with his chopsticks, “if you wanna know, you gotta ask them. It wasn’t us you said it to.”

“But I don’t even know what I said!”

“So find out.” Yuta quipped, his tone aiming for boredom but the awkwardness that laid just beneath was heard loud and clear by the table.

Johnny sputtered. “They won’t even talk to me!”

“You’ll think of something man, don’t worry.” Jaehyun assured him while he took some meat from his food. Johnny resisted the urge to slam his head onto the table, settling on sneakily watching you while you spoke with your peers cheerily.

“Why can’t you just tell me.” Johnny whined as he pouted. The sooner he knew what he said, the quicker he could sort it out.

Taeyong shrugged, “it’s not our place. And I don’t know about these two but I don’t really feel comfortable with telling you since it wasn’t me that it was directed at.”

“Okay,” Johnny conceded, “I’ll try find out for myself.”

One week passed with you avoiding all sorts of communication with him; you didn’t sit beside him at the weekly meetings anymore, Mark and Jungwoo always took you to the canteen and whenever he managed to get a moment alone with you in the photocopy room Doyoung would appear out of nowhere–as if he had super senses that alerted him whenever the two of you were within vicinity of each other. Two weeks passed, then three and by that point you even voluntarily moved cubicles so that Taeil could occupy your place.

Even though his friends noticed that his mood had somewhat dropped as he spiralled into a constant state of fret caused by billions of possible reasons as to why you didn’t even look him in the eye, none of them involved themselves in the situation. They seemed content with him sorting it out for himself. It had gotten to the point where he started being plagued by nightmares, thinking of the worst case scenarios. When those nights occurred, he always called his mom for comfort.

“Alright, Suh,” Donghyuck said, his hands on his hips as he tapped his foot, “I’m sick of seeing you like this. You look so”–he gave him an unimpressed once over–“pitiful and it doesn’t suit you.”

Johnny shrugged passively as he continued to type. The fifth coffee he just demolished did him no good, in fact it made him even more tired. It wasn’t that he wanted to give up but there were only so many failed attempts to reconcile with you before he had enough. What he needed was a break from trying and if him downing unhealthy amounts of caffeine, eating ill adviced amount of fast food and binging romcoms on Netflix was what he chose to do to fill the hole in his heart, then it was nobody’s business but his own. No matter what his friends said.

Donghyuck groaned dramatically, grabbing onto his arm and tried his best to haul him up. Once Johnny had enough, he saved his work, stood up and turned to stare at the smaller man.

“Where are we going?” He asked as Donghyuck led him around the office. As they passed by your cubicle and he frowned when he noticed that you weren’t present–although neither were Mark, Jungwoo and Doyoung so you probably went to grab some lunch. There was no answer, instead the other man just grumbled a string of words to himself that he was unable to decipher.

“Have at it,” Donghyuck told him as he gestured to the photocopy room. When he caught Johnny’s blank look he opened the door and shoved him inside. “You’re not coming out until you sort this out. Goodbye! Have fun!” And with that he shut the door closed, there was a telltale sign of a click that followed and Johnny knew he was in trouble.

There wasn’t a reason as to why Donghyuck would trap him inside a room other than to fix things with you, which was made obvious by what he said after he pushed him inside. When he spun around he found you leaning on the counter, your arms crossed as you stared at the ground.

“Hey,” Johnny whispered after a few minutes of silence that seemed to go on for aeons. When you didn’t look up, he walked over to stand on the opposite counter and mirrored your pose. He chewed on the inside of his mouth as he though of what to say, he thought about this moment for so long and yet now that he was finally in the correct position to confront you, it seemed like everything that he wanted to say was wiped clean from his mind. “I don’t know what I did or what I said but I really want to fix it,” he disclosed after another moment of silence. “I miss you. So can we please, please fix things?”

Johnny watched with a bated breath when he noticed that you hugged your arms closer to yourself as you slowly lifted your head. The expression that he was faced with broke something inside of him. Even though you didn’t meet his gaze, choosing instead to show him your cheek, there were telltale signs of tears in your eyes that he was able to see from the white lightbulb. Jesus. What was it that he said that made you look utterly heartbroken? He didn’t push for an answer, simply waited until you were ready to speak.

“You really don’t remember what you said?” It was heaven to hear your voice although he couldn’t help but notice that you spoke lowly, almost a whisper, which was the complete opposite of how you normally spoke to him–confident and loud, sometimes fondly exasperated.

You mumbled something that he couldn’t hear. “What?” He asked, leaning his body forward. “Sorry I couldn’t hear what you said.”

“I said,” you paused, shrinking into yourself further, “that you told me that you couldn’t stand looking at me.”

That had Johnny gaping, unable to believe what he just heard. There was no way he would say that to you, would he? Obviously he did since you couldn’t bear to look or talk to him for weeks–you weren’t even looking at him even though the two of you were the only ones in the damn room. Why the hell did he say that? Jesus Christ. What was wrong with him?

“What? No! I didn’t mean it!” The words came tumbling out of his mouth as quick as lightning and, surprisingly, you allowed him to ramble on and on. Eventually he came to a stop when he noticed that you were shaking your head slowly at him.

“You didn’t hear the way you said it,” he felt like he was suckerpunched in the stomach when you finally looked into his eyes, “and the look on your face. God, I’ve never seen you look like that.”

Johnny was at a loss for words as he watched you quickly wiped away the tears that escaped. “I’m so sorry, y/n,” the hate he felt towards himself increased as more tears flooded your cheeks, “you have to know that I didn’t mean it! I promise! There’s no way I could mean it because–” he stopped himself, knowing that revealing his feelings for you would do nothing to eradicate the situation. However, there could be a slight chance that you would understand that he would never intentionally say anything of the sort with how he felt for you.

“Because what?” Well it seemed that he would have to tell you since you asked and he wanted to be completely transparent with you.

“There’s no way that I could say that and mean it because”–his heart was racing, palms sweating as he continued–“I love you. And I figured out that I loved you since we were in college when that jackass broke your heart, but my crush on you started when we were paired up for that stupid project in Nam’s class.” Johnny allowed you to take in the load of information that he dumped on you. “I know it isn’t going to erase what I said, and believe me I hate myself for saying it in the first place, but you have to believe me when I say that I never meant it. I don’t even know why I said it in the first place.” Johnny averted his eyes down to his hands, wishing that he could turn back time and prevent himself from drinking too much and causing you such pain.

“I accept your apology,” you sniffled which made his head snapped up to look at you in disbelief. “But I don’t know if I can forgive you at the moment. What you said really hurt me, you know?”

Johnny nodded understandingly. “You can slap me if you want.” He offered, not hesitating to present his cheek to you.

That coaxed a faux scoff escaped you. “I’m not going to do that.” There was a beat of silence before you added, “I’ll accept a hug though.”

The long, warm hug was interrupted by the door opening. Neither of you pulled apart, not until a throat was being cleared exaggeratedly. Johnny cursed internally when he saw Jaehyun standing at the door, eyes flicking back and forth between you and him.

“I better get going.” You said as you stepped back, smiling awkwardly at Jaehyun but stopped just as you reached the door. Johnny raised his brows when he saw you turn back and look him straight in the eye. “I’ve also loved you since college, too.” After that revelation, you zoomed off, leaving him dazed.

“I called it!” Jaehyun exclaimed, punching his fist in the air.

Johnny didn’t even bother to ask as he exited the room, feeling like he was on cloud nine for the rest of the day.

#ive been feeling pretty angsty these days #especially after i posted that doyoung time travel fic #i want to write more angst but im also like #yakult no let the people have fluff >:(#but see ngl fluff is kinda hard for me idk 🥴#i have another written au in my drafts and shes angsty too #not finished but angsty 🥴🤧#but i wanna start another one cause i have a vague idea for a short lil plot #and im like okay....who will i write it for......#i kinda wanna write it for jaehyun tho 👀😳#idk we shall #cast ur vote by shooting me an ask to help me choose a member #if not its okay idm 🤪#(also be real with me yall;was my pocketsized!sicheng a flop?????)#anyway here come the tags:#nct scenarios #nct #nct au #nct 127 #nct imagines #johnny suh #nct johnny #johnny scenarios #johnny x reader #prompt from @dailyau

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iturbide · 5 years ago

Note

speaking of ferdinand, i can see him being the linchpin of a potential BE fix-it AU. bc for all of ferdie's occasional pompousness pre-timeskip, he’s absolutely right in challenging edelgard's opinion instead of just being an enabler for her worst impulses. i imagine if she and hubert hadn’t kept him at arm's length during those formative years after The Incident we’d have had a drastically different route.

Oh hey as it happens he is a vital linchpin in my GD-based post-timeskip fix-it fic in progress!! 8D

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So, for all his faults -- and as much as I love that precious ray of sunshine named Ferdinand von Aegir, he does have flaws, from his overbearing noble pomp to his obnoxious rivalry with Edelgard -- Ferdinand is one of the only people who openly opposes Edelgard in any way. He has instilled in him a deep-seated belief of what it means to be noble, and feels that it’s his duty to match and meet Edelgard so that if she starts going astray, he can steer her back onto the proper course. He cares about people, and he recognizes how important it is to understand commoners rather than just deciding things based on assumptions -- let’s not forget, he goes out of his way to bake cakes for Dorothea in an attempt to understand her feelings for him, working to earn the ingredients and making them with his own hands, which nets him not only a few rounds of failures but at least a few burns; and he also explains to Lorenz that spending time in commoner establishments isn’t important because it patronizes their businesses, but rather because it puts them in contact with the people they’re supposed to support so that they can truly understand their needs. Ferdinand stays in Enbarr at Edelgard’s side trying with all his might to steer their course back, trying to help take care of the people of the Empire who are the first to suffer in war...and at every turn, his opposition is instead dismissed.

But Ferdinand is ever a ray of light, and he maintains hope, for both himself and those around him. Over the five years, he gives the former Black Eagles the strength and will to continue pushing forward even as things grow increasingly bleak. Whether they know it or not -- some, like Bernadetta and Dorothea, know it powerfully, while Edelgard and Hubert are completely in the dark -- Ferdinand is the glue holding things together in Enbarr. But when news arrives that the Imperial outpost near Garreg Mach has fallen, and it seems likely that the next target will be the Great Bridge at Myrddin, Edelgard sends Ferdinand to lead the reinforcements -- ostensibly because he is one of the Empire’s most capable fighters and she trusts him to lead the charge, though she certainly won’t exactly miss not having him arguing her every decision. Most of the former Eagles are absolutely devastated by this decision, since Ferdinand really is vital to them...so they each give him something before he goes, as charms for luck and safe keeping.

Sadly, the charms don’t seem to work, as Ferdinand’s reinforcements are swiftly quelled and he’s left fighting alone. All the dark thoughts he’d been trying so hard to keep at bay rush over him -- that this will be where he dies, that Edelgard sent him specifically for that purpose -- and he gives in to that grief and despair, if only briefly, because he knows that if he falls then all the people he cares about and who rely on him, who saw him off with such fear in their eyes and prayed for his safe return with the gifts they gave, will be left all alone in the fights to come. But as hard as he fights, it’s not enough, and between Hilda’s axe and Lorenz’s spear he’s soon brought to his knees. As Claude and Byleth approach, he steels himself, determined to meet his end without flinching and swearing that he’ll not offer his neck if he’s to die he’ll die with his head held high...and instead Claude just tells him to chill out before asking him “so hey how’re things in Enbarr?”

Ferdinand is perplexed. He swiftly insists that he will not betray the Empire by revealing information about their troops or supplies -- and Claude waves it off because no no, he doesn’t want anything like that: he wants to know how things are going for the people. Since they started rebuilding the monastery to act as a base of operations, they’ve seen a lot of religious refugees coming in from the direction of the Empire. What’s going on? And...well, Ferdinand doesn’t see how that could be terribly sensitive information. So he talks about how nothing is what he expected, nothing is right, the people are suffering and as hard as he tries it seems like there’s nothing he can do to alleviate it because nothing he says, nothing he tries, makes it far beyond his mouth. And Claude nods, because he had a feeling that was the case...and then, to everyone’s shock, he tells them to let Ferdinand go.

“I’ll not spy for you, if that’s what you imagine!” Ferdinand says. “My noble heart would never allow such base deception!”

“...you’re kidding, right?” Claude snorts. “You’d be a terrible spy.” All around him, the former Deer nod in agreement.

...after a moment, Ferdinand grudgingly nods, too, because he knows he would be awful, too.

Claude explains, though, that he doesn’t want any favors, he just wants Ferdinand to do what he’s been doing this whole time: keep peoples’ hopes alive. Things are going to get worse before they get better -- but they want to save as many people as they can, and he believes that with Ferdinand back in the Empire, there will be more people to save than if he falls or is taken prisoner here. And even though this seems too good to be true, Ferdinand can’t see where the trap lies...so he agrees, mounts up on his horse (refusing Claude’s offer of healing, since it would be far more suspicious if he showed signs of magic healing rather than limping back, and Claude really can’t fault his logic), and heads back to Enbarr where he is instantly accosted by an anxious Dorothea. As he tries to reassure her, though, who should glide out of the shadows but Hubert himself, and Ferdinand’s life briefly flashes before his eyes because oh Goddess he’s doomed.

“The bridge fell, I presume,” Hubert says, not a question but a statement.

“W-well, you see...t-that is to say...” Ferdinand stammers.

“I thought as much,” Hubert sighs. “I will inform Lady Edelgard -- Dorothea, see him to the infirmary, and make sure he doesn’t do anything else so foolish as riding from Myrddin to Enbarr without stopping for adequate medical treatment.”

Ferdinand is briefly certain that he died because he has never in his life seen Hubert be considerate to anyone besides Edelgard. But then Dorothea is tugging him along toward the infirmary and he’s then forced to sit out the fight at Gronder because he’s in recovery (and Dorothea stays with him on orders because Hubert did tell her not to let Ferdie do anything stupid again). And, as Claude said, things do get worse before they get better: while Edelgard, Hubert, Petra, and Bernadetta all return safe from Gronder, Linhardt and Caspar are presumed dead after Merceus is destroyed, and when the Enbarr finally comes under attack Bernadetta and Hubert are sent out to join the fighting in the streets...but Ferdinand trusts in the promise Claude made, that they wanted to save all they could. So he keeps his faith, and that unshakeable optimism helps the rest of the former Eagles keep theirs -- and it’s rewarded when the palace is finally stormed: Ferdinand cheerfully surrenders to Lorenz after briefing him on the situation inside, retreats under a loose Alliance ‘guard’...and finds Linhardt, Caspar, Bernadetta, and Hubert, all alive and well (if somewhat worse for the wear, in Hubert’s case, since he’s currently under the influence of Marianne’s Silence spell and Byleth jabbed a couple pressure points to make extra sure he wouldn’t be casting).

Despite being technically a ‘prisoner’ after that point, Ferdinand has free run of the camp and just ingrains himself among them, taking to making tea for everyone once they finally make it back to Garreg Mach to figure out what comes next. In fact, when Byleth, Claude, and Dimitri come try to talk with Edelgard and Hubert soon after taking up at the monastery again, Ferdinand is right there with them bearing a tray of tea and bustling about making things comfortable.

“...Ferdinand,” Edelgard starts.

“Yes?” he replies as he places the tray on the table.

“What is this?” she asks, clearly meaning the situation that has him siding with the enemy.

“Why, it’s tea, of course!” he smiles, completely missing the point. “And coffee for Hubert,” he adds, taking a particular cup and putting it in front of the dark mage. “I thought a nice Hresvelg Blend sounded lovely on such a beautiful day, wouldn’t you agree?”

Claude is laughing silently in the background because the look on Edelgard’s face is absolutely priceless. Gods bless Ferdinand von Aegir.

#answered #asperrusual #fire emblem: three houses #fe:3h spoilers #kintsugi #ferdinand von aegir is a treasure #and the true hero of the empire as far as i'm concerned #he's the primary reason so many people make it through in kintsugi #notably including dorothea #it comes very close for her when enbarr is attacked #but he's the rock they all rely on and he sees them through it all #i love that precious ray of sunshine and i can't wait to write him #also apologies for the exceptionally long fic rant #but i don't get to talk much about my actual stories on my blog #so i'm taking my chance and running like hell with it

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thetokenmuggle · 4 years ago

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Of French and Ice Cream

Sailor Moon Au : Part Two

“I can’t believe you all crashed my morning coffee date,” Jane huffed looking over at Minah, Tyler, Lucas and, sadly even, Tara and Enzo. “And I can't believe he actually bought you all coffee,” she grumbled as they stepped into Astor Academy.

“Well in my case I am going to assume that I am M’s favourite, other than you of course,” Tara said. Jane's nose scrunched up, she couldn’t even argue against that. Tara was everyone’s favourite, to be honest, many a time she had heard Luna wish she could stay with Tara instead. “And I offered to pay him back for mine,” she said with a frown.

“Maybe M felt guilty about the bad news he shared and realizes he made a stupid decision and is trying to win our forgiveness by giving us coffee,” Tyler snapped taking a sip of his coffee. “Honestly how M even made it to college with his bad decision making,” he continued ranting ignoring the way Jane was plotting his death. Jane took a deep breath in trying to stop herself from snapping, hearing Daehyung or Daniel as he was called now was in town was a bit of shock but if he didn’t shut up soon Jane would have no choice but smacking him across the back of the head.

“Tyler,” Minah warned, “Maybe you boyfriend, bless his heart, understands that going to school is an impossible task without a little caffeine,” Minah said. “Especially when you consider we have to deal with Lucas fangirls and worse - Tyler fangirls,” Minah said with a shudder. “Why would these girls do that to themselves,” she said shaking her head. “They could at least fangirl over Lucas and Enzo instead,” she said earning a glare from Tyler and a smirk from Enzo.

“Maybe M is just nice,” Lucas offered, Jane turned to face him, brows furrowed. “Just saying,” he muttered, shrinking into himself which admittedly was an impressive task given his height. Unlike Tyler’s reaction to hearing about Daehyung, Lucas was a ball of excitement about Eunha possibly coming to their school though he had become more subdued when they got closer to the school.

“Also notice that neither Lucas nor Tyler have been swarmed by their rabid fanbase yet,” Minah said, raising an eyebrow. “Do you think a miracle finally happened and they managed to grow some brain cells?” she asked sarcastically.

“Ha ha ha,” Tyler said with an eye roll.

“It's kinda true though,” Tara said with a frown. “No fangirls and none of the lovestruck fools that normally follow Minah either,” she said, causing Minah to scoff. “You’d think after a whole Summer of not seeing them in person they would be waiting for them to arrive,” she pointed out. “Also where are those girls who usually wait for Jane and Minah to show them how to style their uniform for the year?” she said. Jane and Minah looked over at each other and smirked, it was kinda fun seeing how everyone tried to recreate their style.

“Maybe Minah was right but an even bigger miracle happened and they went and got a life?” Enzo suggested.

“Too unrealistic,” Jane commented, shaking her head. “I bet it's an alien invasion,” Jane half-joked. She was enjoying just being a normal teenage girl who was just trying to figure out how to see her boyfriend but ever since that Asteroid had landed at the start of Summer, Jane (and Luna who hadn’t been able to shut up about it) had a feeling something bad was going to happen.

“Well, maybe we should see what that crowd is looking at?” Enzo said pointing to the staircase where everyone was standing around. Jane’s eyes narrowed as she looked over, spotting the majority of the senior year gathered around the stairs. She even spotted a few of Lucas’s more loyal fangirls.

The group moved over to the staircase, frowning as the sound of a guitar being strummed assaulted her ears. She couldn’t explain it but something about it just seemed weird. Like she knows it should sound nice but it was just off.

“Can anyone see anything?” she asked turning to her friends, Minah and Tara both shook their heads.

“It’s just some guy playing the guitar and a girl standing next to him,” Enzo said, sounding bored. “How boring,” he shrugged, stepping away from the crowd.

“And it’s not Eunha,” Lucas frowned in disappointment. Jane tried not to coo at how cute Lucas was, if Eunha did come to this school she better treat this boy right. “Honestly it’s nothing special,” Lucas shrugged. Jane frowned, she knew her classmates had a habit of idolizing their fellow peers but this was a little ridiculous.

Minah scoffed next to her, “This is so dumb,” she said with a scowl. “Come on let's go, I am not waiting here all day,” she said linking arms with Jane and Tara (who had grabbed onto Enzo not letting him escape this). “Lucas, Lee, let’s go,” she called as she moved forward, Jane was pretty sure she stepped on some people’s feet by accident, unlike Minah who may or may not have dropped her coffee on someone on purpose.

They stopped at the top of the stairs where the guitar boy and his friend stood. Guitar boy stopped playing while the girl looked extremely annoyed by their presence. “Excuse me,” the girl said in an obnoxious and potentially fake french accent.

“Maude no,” Guitar boy said, his eyes solely focused on Minah. Jane raised an eyebrow as this boy stepped forward, reaching out and grabbing Minah’s hand, bringing it up to his lips and kissing it.

“Julien,” Maude all but growled at the guitar boy. “What are you doing?” she asked glaring daggers at Minah. Jane moved forward just enough to shield her friends from this girl.

“Yeah what are you doing?” Tyler said, stepping in front of Minah, puffing his chest out to make him seem tough. “Keep your hands and lips to yourself,” he snapped. Jane rolled her eyes at this testosterone-induced staring contest, men, how tragic.

“Mind your business chipmunk,” Minah said elbowing Tyler.

“Don’t talk to him like that” The girl, Mauve?, snapped, racing over beside Tyler. “Are you okay?” she asked sweetly. Jane turned to Tara wondering if she had any idea what was actually happening but even she looked confused. “I’m Maude, do you need to go see a nurse, I can’t believe that girl you were only looking out for her… how ungrateful,” she continued as Tyler looked at her perplexed.

“I am fine?” he said, raising an eyebrow as the Maude girl leeched onto his arm.

Tyler was saved by the bell ringing and the entire student body pushing past in a rush to get to class leaving their group behind, the newcomers seemingly disappearing in the rush. “Well that was interesting,” Jane said as the six of them stood at the now-abandoned staircase.

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” Enzo said, Tara and Lucas nodded in agreement, all four of them looking over at Minah and Tyler curiously. “Well we have to get going,” he said nodding to Tara and Lucas, “good luck with those two,” he said gesturing to Tyler and Minah who were now bickering.

Jane groaned, “Lucas, your know how you are Tyler and Minah’s favourite?” Jane asked sweetly. “Maybe they would like it better if we swapped classes … just for today -” she said pouting. If Enzo wasn’t around she would have bought up the fact that Lucas was one of her sailor guardians who swore to protect just to make sure she got her way.

“I am not,” he started to say when a girl came running down the hallway cursing herself for being late. They watched said girl crash into Lucas, Jane winced feeling sympathetic for the girl, Lucas was like a wall. “Hey are you okay?” he asked, an arm wrapping around her to stop her from stumbling back. His eyes widened as he took in the girl, mouth hanging open.

“Oh i am fine, sorry,” The girl said, causing Jane, Tara, Minah and Tyler to turn and look at her. They all knew that voice, it was Eunha, well Emily as she apparently goes by now. Jane didn’t think it was a coincidence that she did end up going to the same school as them, just like them being in the same apartment as M wasn’t whether it be by design or fate.

“Why are we all staring at that girl?” Enzo whispered. Jane snapped out of her thoughts to see the girl shifting uncomfortably.

“I am just gonna,” she said as she wriggled out of Lucas' grip. ”Excuse me,” she said nodding before racing down the hall leaving a pouting Lucas in her wake.

“Well that - let’s just go to class,” Jane said with a frown. “We can figure out what is going on during lunch,” she said.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Jane never imagined being the fifth wheel at their table despite being the only one of her friends who was actually in a relationship but here she was watching as Minah and Tyler both dealt with the school's newest students. Julien and Maude, two exchange students from France who in Jane’s oh so humble opinion had some of the worst french accents she had ever heard and she had heard a few.

She had zoned out halfway through this lunch, Tara and Lucas had stayed for a few minutes but after the Julien and Maude show decided that they had to catch up with their other friends and they would talk about Emily and Daniel later.

“I find it hard to believe someone as beautiful as you doesn’t have a boyfriend,” Julien commented looking at Minah with what could only be described as heart eyes. Minah hummed, looking down with the smallest smiles on her face. Jane raised an eyebrow, she had never seen Minah be affected by any guy flirting with her, especially not with such a basic line. If anything it was usually Minah flirting and reducing the boys to a puddle only to leave them because she wasn’t interested in anything serious.

“I can, she isn’t that pretty,” Maude said haughty, looking down her nose at Minah. Jane’s eyes narrowed a silent plea for the brunette to continue so she could punch her stupid face for saying such nonsense.

“Oh that is because she isn’t looking, we have a will they won’t they thing going on,” Tyler said glaring at Julien. Jane covered her mouth to stop herself from laughing. “Plus our dear Minah is dealing with some issues thanks to her ex,” he pretended to whisper before letting out a yowl. It didn’t take a genius to figure Minah had kicked him under the table.

“We have nothing going on,” Minah said, eyes narrowed.

“That’s not what you said last night,” Tyler shrugged, a cocky smirk on his face. Jane looked between the two of them not noticing the way both Julien and Maude looked practically murderous. “Why must you hide our love like this?” he said dramatically.

“I will end you,” Minah said through gritted teeth.

“I think we should go,” Julien said standing up, Maude followed suit. Jane felt a little sympathetic for the pair, mostly for Julien (if she was going to be completely honest.) having to witness this argument it was disturbing for her to watch she could imagine what it would be like to be an almost stranger watching along.

“Oh no don’t leave, especially not because of that fool,” she said reaching out to grab Julien's wrist. Jane raised an eyebrow at the way Maude seemed to fume, her eyes narrowed at Minah’s hand. “Or how about I come with you,” she said sweetly, eyes fluttering and a soft smile on her lips. Jane rolled her eyes knowing that Julien was a goner. The boy nodded, a dumb smile making its way onto his face and like that the pair had gone, walking off to the other side of the schoolyard. Maude had been completely forgotten.

“I am still going,” Maude said, eyes darting to Tyler hopefully.

“Okay see you in class,” Tyler shrugged before turning to Jane. “Can you believe her? What is Minah thinking?” he ranted. Jane once again had to cover her mouth to stop herself from laughing at Tyler’s complete dismissal of Maude. “What’s wrong with you? Why do you keep covering your mouth?” he said, sparing Jane an annoyed glance. “I swear everyone is losing their mind today,” he said shaking his head.

“Just a cough,” Jane lied. “And you say that like you are not included in the mind losing,” she said shaking her head. “Saying all that stuff to Minah, it’s like you have a death wish,” Jane commented.

“I am saving her from her own terrible taste,” Tyler shrugged. “Between Minah and Lucas, i swear i am going to be exhausted. Let's hope Enzo does his job and keeps fools around for Tara,” he grumbled, a determined flash behind his eyes.

“You could just, you know, mind your own business and not get involved,’ Jane said in a sing-song voice causing Tyler to roll his eyes.

“Clearly i can’t,” Tyler said simply, “Lucas wants to run into the mess that is Eunha and Minah is going around with Julien who by the way smells like dead roses,” he huffed.

“You were smelling him?” Jane asked, scrunching her nose up. “That’s a little weird,” she said looking at Tyler judgmentally.

“Tyler’s being weird again, nice to know somethings don’t change,” Lucas teased, making his presence known. Tyler rolled his eyes, flicking a crumb up at Lucas. “Did you really smell him?” he asked looking at Tyler curiously.

“Oh shush,” Tyler said with a huff. “You can’t judge me, mister. I've been following Eunha around like a sad little puppy dog,” he said, judgment clear in his voice.

“Her name is Emily now thank you very much,” Lucas corrected. “And i have not, I’ve been with the guys,” he said proudly before pouting. “Plus even if i did want to talk to Emily she has become friends with Mimi,” he said sitting down where Minah had been sitting. “Why is life so unfair?” he questioned.

“Oh stop being so dramatic,” Jane said. “Who cares if she is friends with a girl who doesn’t like you because you beat her high score at some silly Sailor V game,” Jane said, rolling her eyes at the whole situation. “I am sure one proper look at you and Eun- Emily will be in love,” Jane said patting his back. “And if she isn’t there are plenty of other girls who would love to be with you,” she added.

“Though your fan club as dwindled thanks to that new weirdo,” Tyler said with an eye roll. “You know I saw him making eyes at Eunha just before,” Tyler teased, smiling faintly.

“Please that boy only has a heart eyes for Minah, mon cheri ,” Jane said mockingly, Julien’s use of the French language irked Jane but to his credit, he did better than Maude who seemed to just make odd noises. “And if Lucas’s fan club has dwindled then yours must be non-existent now,” she said looking at Tyler who blanched at the thought.

“Look just because neither you nor your boyfriend are fan club worthy but -” Tyler started to speak but was cut off by the sound of an ice cream truck jingle. Jane’s brows furrowed together, she would never say no to ice cream on a hot day but they had never heard an ice cream truck around their school, well ever.

It was like everyone paused as the truck's song continued to play, “creepy,” Lucas muttered under his breath. The day got even stranger as the school gates opened allowing the truck to come in. Their principal was notably strict about what was and what wasn’t allowed in their schools, Jane can recall that one time Antoine tried to order a pizza at school - he was in detention for two months and had to work as a delivery driver for one of them.

Within the blink of an eye majority of the student body had surrounded the truck causing Jane to pout. She wanted to get an ice cream cone but with that line lunch would be over before even half of the crowd disappeared.

“You’d think they’d have never seen an ice cream van before,” Tyler murmured, face contorting into one of thinly veiled disgust. “How childish,” he said with an eye roll.

“Okay Mr I’m too cool for ice cream,” Jane said, watching as Tara and Minah made their way over. She raised an eyebrow last time she looked over at Tara was chatting away with her friends and Minah had disappeared with Julien, probably to find an empty classroom ‘to get to know each better’.

“Problems?” she asked as they arrived, the pair couldn’t look any different, Tara’s eyes were downcast and she chewed her lip while Minah stood with her hand on hip and annoyed huff escaping her lips.

“Apparently Julien really likes ice cream,” Minah said rolling her eyes. “As soon as he heard it he was all like i have to go excuse me and just disappeared on me, people do not disappear on me,” she ranted.

“Julien and the entire school,” Tara said, “Does anyone else find it weird how literally raced over?” she questioned.

“Everyone but us,” Lucas pointed out rather unhelpfully.

“Yeah, but at the same time it’s the first day of school, who doesn’t need a mid-afternoon pick me up?” Jane questioned, trying to squash the nerves in her stomach. This year was going to be normal, she was going to have a normal senior year dealing with normal girl problems. No negaverse. No Beryl. Just homework and boy problems ( not that she has those.)

“I know but everyone, I am pretty sure one of the girls in my grade is lactose intolerant,” Tara pointed out.

“Oh and Stephanie told me once she doesn’t eat ice cream because it ruins your skin so -” Lucas frowned. “But maybe it’s the first-day blue’s, I felt little nuts after Mr Warren’s class,” he added hopefully.

“Hey T, i got you an ice cream,” Tara’s friend Ara called out, tossing a wrapped ice cream at Tara before taking a bit of her soft serve and fainting.

“Ara,” Tara raced over to where Ara had just fallen, Tyler followed after her. While Minah and Jane shared a concerned look.

“Looks like the negatrash is back,” Lucas said looking around the schoolyard as students rapidly started to fall to the ground.

“Unfortunately,” Jane said with a frown. She couldn’t believe it though, she had beaten Metalia, the evil force had been defeated by the power of the silver crystal. It couldn’t be Enzo she thought, maybe Daehyun and Eunha? But why would they? Sungjae was a possibility, no one had seen or heard from since the rebirth and he was the most heavily influenced. Maybe he was calling the shots, somehow got Daehyun and Eunha to work for him. Regardless she needed to deal with the problem at hand. “Moon! Prism! Power,” she shouted to transform. Minah and Lucas had followed suit transforming into Sailor Venus and Sailor Jupiter respectively.

“Mimi,” They looked towards the van seeing Eunha crouching down next to her new friend. “What the hell did you do?” she shouted towards whoever was in the van. The only thing that could be heard was maniacal laughing and icy tentacle springing from inside the van. The tentacle wrapped around her waist holding her in place as it started to drain her energy.

Jane and Minah didn’t have time to react as Lucas raced forward. “Supreme Thunder!” he called out as a lightning bolt sprung from his crown at the tentacle creature. Eunha crumbled to the ground barely able to move. That ruled her out as a possible suspect.

The monster leapt out of the van, as expected it was as ugly as ever. A vaguely human esque blue creature with tentacles for arms, its eyes were shaped like snowflakes and its midsection was covered in what looked like sprinkles. The creature hissed at Lucas who was now standing protectively in front of Emily.

“Venus love chain,” Minah called out, her power whipping the monster causing it to swirl around to face herself and Jane.

“Hey Ugly,” Jane called out, causing the monster to turn around to see her and Minah. “Yeah you, I get that you aren’t from around here but this isn’t going to end well for you,” she said down at the monster in contempt. “I am Sailor Moon, the champion of justice and i say on the behalf of the moon, I shall right wrongs and triumph over evil and that means you,’ she said with her usual arm movements. By this point, she had her speech down a fine art.

The creature turned to hiss at her before lifting one of it tentacle arm up and aiming it directly at Jane. Jane watched in morbid curiosity as it opened revealing a slimy ball of what looked like at icecream. “Gross now icecream has been ruined for me forever,” she muttered. The ball of icecream grew bigger that closer it got to Jane, she leapt out of the way only to see Minah got caught in a ball of ice cream.

Despite the seriousness of the situation Jane had to stop herself from laughing because honestly, the image in front of her was hilarious. She couldn’t look for too long because the monster hadn’t forgotten about her and started to rapidly fire at her causing her to run and jump all over the yard. The one plus side with a Jane sized distraction the monster had forgotten all about Lucas who had moved to aid Minah who was less than happy about her situation.

“Can you give me a break,” Jane panted, she had to get back into her old Cardio program if she was going to be doing all this running again because right she was really struggling. The monster hissed, using one of its tentacles to reach and grab Jane. “Crap,” Jane snapped as she was hung upside down by the monster.

Jane struggled to fight her way out of it. “Mars fire ignite,” was heard before a fireball hit the tentacle causing Jane to be released with a thud.

“Everyone say thank you Sailor Mars, you have the best power,” Tyler boasted. He was served a piece of humble pie when the creature took aim at him, he just escaped. “Mercury a little help right now,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Oh i thought Sailor Mars could handle this since he has the best powers,” Tara called out from whatever she was, Jane spun around trying to figure out where exactly she was but had no luck. “Mercury Aqua Mist,” was heard before the whole school was covered in mist. Any chances she had of finding Tara was gone now all she could see was the ugly ice cream sundae in front of her.

Jane knew that this was her opportunity to finish that creature off. “Moon Tiara Magic,” she exclaimed, attacking the creature watching as it let out a pained screech and turning into a vapour leaving nothing but what looked like a card. That was new. Jane stepped forward tentatively picking the card up. It was empty except for a border. She hummed pocketing it, she would show Luna it when she got home. Maybe she had an idea of what it meant.

She knew soon the rest of the school would be waking up and if it was anything like when Shitennou attacked they would have no memory of what happened at all, it was as weird as it was annoying. Luna had tried to explain why it happens to her once but Jane at the time didn’t really care and now she was too afraid to ask knowing that she will get a scolding from her moon guardian.

“I am never eating ice cream again,” Minah said shivering, “That was disgusting,” she whined. Jane looked at her sympathetically as they began to de-transform. “So much for a normal life huh,” she said somewhat bitterly. “Let’s just go to class before the rest of the masses wake up,” she huffed.

“I thought you look pretty…. Cool,” Tyler said chuckling causing everyone but Lucas who was moving an unconscious Emily into a more comfortable position. What a gentleman. “Hey it’s not my fault she looked pretty sweet, too bad Julien wasn’t around i am sure he’d tell Minah she looked yummy,” he continued.

“Oh that is it,” Minah said smacking his side causing Tyler’s eyes to widen. “I’ve had enough of you today,” she said as Tyler raced away, Minah following after him threatening to cause him serious harm.

“Do you think it’s the negaverse again?’ Tara asked quietly. “Should i be keeping an eye on Enzo?”

“I don’t know,” Jane sighed, that was her answer to both questions. She didn’t know what was going on anymore but Minah was right their hopes of a normal year were dashed.

#story

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drarry-on-drarry-on · 6 years ago

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So @litlleprincessma asked me to write a fic of my headcanon from the other day, and @ununquadius gave me permission to add on, so here goes my first Drarry fic. (Sorry about the formatting and stuff; Tumblr’s formatting sucks)

Harry strolled into the small cafe, whistling merrily as the bell jingled overhead. It was a gorgeous day, even by September standards, and he couldn’t help the extra bounce in his step as he wove his way between the tables. When he reached the usual booth, he found Dudley already seated, perusing the menu as though he wouldn’t get the exact same sandwich as always.

“Anything look good today?” Harry asked as he slid into the booth across from his cousin.

Dudley hummed pensively from behind his menu. “I’m not sure yet... the stir fry maybe.”

Harry rolled his eyes but didn’t comment. Sometimes it was better to just let things be with Dudley. He’d learned that the hard way growing up, but in recent months—as in, since they’d started meeting up to eat lunch and actually talk things out—Harry had relearned several things about his cousin in a whole new light.

He didn’t bother looking at his own menu, instead signaling for the waitress for his cup of coffee. As he waited, his mind slipped away, drifted back to his apartment, to his warm bed with its rumpled sheets and that sweet, lithe body curled up so nicely—

“I met this guy last night that seemed to hate you a lot,” Dudley suddenly announced, effectively halting Harry’s wistful thoughts.

“It could be anyone,” Harry admitted with another eye roll. He thought of the backlash in the past year...or rather in the wake of the Prophet’s surprise announcement. Imagine, people throwing themselves into fits just because of who he was dating.

Harry didn’t care, he really didn’t. And yet he found himself asking, “How did he look like?”

“Um,” Dudley finally set down his menu, his eyes flitting upward as he tried to recall. “He was tall, blond, pale, grey eyes, pointy face...” he used his hands to illustrate said pointyness.

Harry’s face split into a bashful grin. “Ah,” Harry looked down, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, “that’d be Draco,” he glanced nervously up at Dudley as he continued, “my boyfriend.”

Dudley looked shocked, and Harry braced himself for the worst. And it had all been going so nicely too... But then Dudley surprised him once again by asking, “Why date someone who hates you?”

“Er...” Harry was legitimately at a loss for words. “What?”

“I mean, I get that he’s a good looking bloke and all, but you really have to think about your own emotional well-being too!”

Harry burst out laughing. “Oh my god, Dudley. No, he just...he doesn’t hate me,” he assured his cousin. At Dudley’s concerned look, Harry continued. “Trust me. That’s just kind of his... I don’t know, standard way of talking?”

“So he’s got that bitch face thing? But in the way he talks?”

“Yes!” Harry crowed. “That’s exactly it!”

At Dudley’s perplexed sigh, Harry chuckled and shook his head. “Trust me. Plus I think he’s still a little confused about it all sometimes.”

“Confused about it all?” Dudley arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Harry looked down at the table and smiled. “It didn’t happen the normal way that you’d expect things like that to happen.”

“And how did it happen?”

“Well, it started when we all went back for our eighth year, after the war...”

***

Draco pretended not to hear the whispers. They’d followed him all year, just like the sneers, the glares...the hatred. He held his chin high, his mask firmly in place. That’s what he’d always done, didn’t really make sense to drop his sole remaining defense mechanism now.

But really, had he expected any less? When his mother had asked him to return to Hogwarts and finish his schooling, regain some dignity for the family name, he’d known what lay in store.

What he hadn’t expected was Potter.

Potter, who’d walked right up to him on the first day back and extended a warm, firm hand. Potter, who’d taken to sitting with Draco during Potions. Potter, who’d sought him out for everything from study sessions to seeker games. Potter, who continued to surprise Draco so much that he really shouldn’t be surprised anymore.

Mind, none of this had really helped with his New Term Resolution to finally get over his hopeless crush on one Harry Potter, Golden Boy extraordinaire and savior of the entire bloody wizarding world. But that was fine. He’d just...have to do that some other time. Like maybe after the year ended and they all went their separate ways for good.

At least the gossip had lessened since Potter started talking to him. Word of their...friendship? Acquaintanceship? Colleagueship? Whatever it was, word of it must’ve slipped out. Everyone was much less hostile now.

But that didn’t mean that the hostility ended completely. There were still some who loathed his very existence. Like the third year Ravenclaw who always glared at him and spit words like Traitor and Death Eater. But now, when he passed her in the courtyard, she looked at him and...and...smiled... Like a genuine smile.

Draco wasn’t sure what expression his face was making, but he knew his usual mask of indifference was long gone. Even as he tried to ignore the whispers, he couldn’t help but notice that they were different. There were giggles, blushes, shy glances away. What the hell?

He quickened his steps, eager to escape to the silence and solitude of his dorm. He’d just rounded the corner that would lead him down to the cellars when a bright-eyed first year slipped into his path, forcing him to draw up short.

Glaring down at the young Slytherin should have forced her back, but she didn’t budge. Huh, that usually worked...

Draco tried to step around her, but she just stepped with him. He stepped back the other way, yet she mirrored him still. A small cluster of other first-year Slytherins giggled from nearby.

Draco heaved a put-upon sigh and rolled his eyes. “May I help you?”

Her smile inched wider at her victory. “My friends and I were wonderiiiiing...” she drew out the word to unbearable lengths.

“What?” Draco snapped, cutting her off.

She glared but continued on. “Is it true?”

Draco frowned. What the hell had these idiots come up with now?

“Is what true?”

And then came the question that changed everything: “Is it true you’re dating Harry Potter?”

***

Draco burst through the doors to the library, ignoring the shushes and glares from other students already there. He’d wasted three hours of nonstop searching—first the great hall, then the quidditch pitch, then the bloody Gryffindor common room.

And no one had even bothered to ask why he was there! They’d just smiled stupidly like everyone else as Seamus called “Oi, Malfoy! You looking for Harry?”

So Draco had finally managed to track Potter and the rest of his Golden Trio here, to the library.

He stalked through the aisles, glaring down anyone who dared make eye contact and flat out growling at one poor girl who tried to speak. So help him, if he had to hear about his boyfriend Potter one more damn time!

Yes, Draco was well aware that his crush was pathetic, and yes, he’d probably given too much away when chatting with Potter during potions last week. But that didn’t call for Potter mocking him or spreading rumors about him. Potter could’ve just spoken to Draco himself, let him down kindly.

Draco blushed to think that he’d actually believed...hoped...well, it didn’t matter what he’d believed or hoped; it obviously wasn’t true. Potter didn’t want to befriend Draco, not really.

He finally spotted them, sitting at a table near the back. He drew in a deep fortifying breath and marched resolutely forward.

He was mere steps away from the table when Potter glanced up, at first wearily, as though he were expecting some overeager fan, but then did a double take when he realized it was Draco. His mouth turned up into a shy smile, which drew Draco up short.

“Hey, Draco,” he murmured. Ron and Hermione glanced up, but barely showed any interest or concern beyond a head nod and quick smile respectively.

After a moment of confusion, Draco shook his head and refocused on Potter and his messy hair and bright eyes and shy smile.

“Potter,” he ground out. “If I could have a word.”

Potter’s eyes widened in surprise but he nodded eagerly and jumped up to follow Draco. So trusting, despite the anger and embarrassment Draco could feel emanating off himself. It was disconcerting, to have someone so willing to follow him now. Well, that and the stares. Draco could feel the other students watching as he hurried toward the exit with Potter close behind.

When they’d escaped the stifling silence and nosy stares, Draco immediately latched onto Potter’s arm and yanked him to a nearby alcove, ignoring Potter’s squawk of confusion.

“What the hell, Potter?” Draco spit as he shoved the other boy into the secluded space.

“What?” Potter cried incredulously.

“You know perfectly well what!” Draco snarled. “Telling people I’m your...your...”

He broke off with a sharp inhale and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was not about to cry in front of the git. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

“Hey,” Potter murmured, reaching up to tug on Draco’s tie. “What’s wrong? What have I done?”

Draco froze. It sounded so...so genuine. It would be like Potter to take the blame on himself. And yet, the tug on his tie was so playful, so familiar. Draco cautiously opened his eyes to find Potter studying him, his eyes warm and concerned.

“You’ve been telling everyone that we’re...you know, together. Boyfriends.”

Potter opened his mouth, probably to protest, but Draco pushed on. “I know that you must’ve been uncomfortable when you found out about my feelings for you, but did you really—“ Draco broke off again. He looked away, shaking his head. Damn the tears that kept building, threatening to spill. “I thought we were finally getting along.”

Potter shuffled forward, giving another tug to the green tie. “Draco...I told people that we’re boyfriends because...we are.”

Wait, what?

“What?” Draco practically shouted as his head snapped back around to stare at the delusional man.

“What do you mean, what?” Potter glared. “We’ve been dating for weeks now!”

“No! No, we haven’t,” Draco argued, somewhat sillily. “I feel like I would know if we were dating, especially for weeks.”

“Sorry?” Potter said, sarcastic as ever. “Was there supposed to be an advert in the Prophet? Do you need a certificate signed by McGonagall?”

“A bloody conversation would have been nice!” Draco yelled. “You can’t just claim someone as your boyfriend like an actual Neanderthal, Potter. There needs to be wooing.”

“Wooing?”

“Yes, wooing. Long conversations about feelings, gifts, dates!”

“But there was all that!” Potter threw his hands up.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Draco cried in frustration. When he saw how angry Potter was getting, he forced himself to shut up and calm down before asking, “Might I ask when these supposed dates occurred?”

Potter gaped at him before answering archly, “We just took a walk around the lake last Thursday!”

“That wasn’t—“ Draco started, but cut off suddenly. Oh. Ohh. Ohhhhhh. “And I take it the studying out by the pitch was also... And the thing by the...”

“Yes,” Potter bit out.

Draco couldn’t believe he’d been such an idiot. He wasn’t about to admit that, of course. Instead, he crossed his arms and struck a haughty pose.

“Well, what about the gifts?”

Potter rolled his eyes. “I let you keep my favorite snitch after our game on Saturday.”

Right. Draco stared at him, dumbfounded. He tried one final defense. “But there hasn’t been any... any handholding or, uh,” he could feel his blush rising. “kissing, or anything.”

Potter shrugged bashfully, looking down at the ground. “I thought that maybe you just didn’t want to rush into things or didn’t like touching or something.”

Draco’s heart almost split in two at the uncertainty in Harry’s voice. He stepped forward, brushing the back of his hand against Harry’s. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

Harry snorted. “No, I am. I honestly thought...” His fingers slowly linked through Draco’s as he glanced up at the taller boy through his lashes. “Can I take you to Hogsmeade tonight? I don’t want there to be any more confusion, not with you.”

If Harry kept using that expression, Draco was in danger of never being able to say no again. He’d complain about it later, but for now, with his heart nearly bursting out of his chest, he simply smiled and nodded.

***

Dudley was obviously trying not to laugh.

“Bloody hell, you were dating for weeks?” He finally let out a snort. “How bollocks do you have to be at dating for your boyfriend to not even realize?” Another chortle escaped.

Harry glared, but Dudley wasn’t deterred.

“And then he just waltzed into a bloody library,” he threw his hands up, his face now an impressive red as more laughter escaped, “and started yelling!”

“We were technically outside the library,” a posh voice broke in, and both cousins turned to find a tall blond with grey eyes and a pointy face glaring from beside the table. “And to be fair—“

But when Dudley caught sight of Draco, he burst out in a new fit of laughter, wheezing and gasping his merry way along. Draco merely rolled his eyes and plopped down into the booth beside Harry.

“Hey?” Harry murmured, his eyebrows furrowing with the unspoken question. Why had Draco tracked him down?

Draco blushed and couldn’t quite meet those green eyes as he stole Harry’s mug for a sip of coffee. He shrugged. “I just...I woke up and you were gone.” He finally glanced up to smile shyly at Harry. “I missed you.”

Warmth bloomed in Harry’s chest. “I was going to come right back, I promise.” He leaned in for a quick peck on the lips and trailed his nose up Draco’s jaw to whisper in his ear. “You looked so fucking gorgeous when I left. I don’t know how much longer I would’ve been able to stay away.” He nipped at Draco’s earlobe. “I want a repeat of what we did last night.”

Draco grinned wickedly and slid his hand onto Harry’s thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m holding you to that, you Neanderthal.”

They looked up to find Dudley wiping away the last of his tears. “Bloody hell, Harry. Only you.”

“I know, ha bloody ha. Now, if you’re quite done braying like a mule,” his arm slid around Draco’s shoulders, pulling him in close. “I’d like to formally introduce you to Draco, my boyfriend.”

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry ficlet #hogwarts #eighth year #harry potter #draco malfoy #dudley #confusion #misunderstandings #idiots in love #harry x draco #harry potter x draco malfoy

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melodious-madrigals · 5 years ago

Text

wondertrev secret santa gift!

This is for @wondertrevnet‘s WondertrevSecretSanta2019 exchange. My recipient is @mousedetective: I hope you enjoy this, and I hope you have wonderfully happy holidays!

Title: oh, your love is sunlight

Summary: Diana is paid a visit from a goddess, learns a couple of secrets, and incidentally, gets something of a midwinter gift.

Notes: Modern fic; includes a slight retcon related to the Wonder Woman (2017) origin story but otherwise canon adjacent; ignores WW84 trailer for now (sorry!); a little bit of angst at the beginning but mostly fluff! (also available on ao3.)

Without further ado, here it is:

***

On the darkest day of the year, Diana startles awake, her heart pounding, muscles tensed. She thinks she catches the remnants of a dream, but they fade away before she can clasp onto them, so thorough in their retreat that they might never have come at all. It is far earlier than she would normally wake, but she finds herself completely unable to relax back into a state that might allow her to fall back to sleep. Sighing, she gets up to start coffee, but promptly decides she doesn't need any, and climbs to the roof instead, thinking that if she's up, she may as well get a sunrise out of it.

The very first rays are only just peeking over the horizon, throwing the light dusting of new snow into a fresh, golden relief, when she hears footsteps approaching and whirls to face the newcomer, senses prickling at an even higher frequency than they have been all morning.

In front of Diana is a woman she has never seen before, with bright eyes and dark skin, a soft, calming kind of beauty.

“Hello, dear one,” the woman says. Her voice is rich, thick and sweet like honey.

The woman may be unknown, but there is something about her that sets Diana vibrating, a gentle current of electricity deep in her bones that extends from the depths of her body to the tips of her fingers.

It registers without thought that this is a goddess, even if they are all supposed to be dead.

“Hestia?” Diana guesses, because this goddess is soft, warm, strong, and perhaps it is her connection to the lasso that is setting Diana’s nerve endings alight.

The woman laughs, gently, and it is a sound that Diana instinctively wants to hear again.

“No, dear child, I am not Hestia. Do you not recognize your mother?”

At this, Diana balks. “My mother is Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, and she remains on Themyscira.” Liar is unspoken, but hangs in the air all the same next to her defiantly tilted chin.

“So she is,” says the goddess, with surprisingly good humor, if any of the stories are to be believed. “But I am Aphrodite, and I am your godly mother.”

“I have an Amazon mother and a godly father. Zeus. I know how I came to be,” Diana insists, wary.

Aphrodite tuts. “You are a demigoddess, dear one, but not because Zeus impregnated your mother. She shaped you, but I gave you your life force.”

Diana is at a loss for words, trying to process what she is being told. “I am a daughter of Zeus. My lightning—”

“I am not powerless, and love can be electric, dear one,” quips Aphrodite, “just as it can be soft, or iron-willed, or all-consuming. Your godly powers are something all your own, but you are my daughter plain and simple as you are Hippolyta’s.”

“Ares told me—”

“Ares lied. Does this truly surprise you?”

No, it doesn't, but Diana is still trying to recover from the whiplash that she was shaped from clay, as her mother once told her. There are too many tangled lies, even a century on.

“Even when my mother lied to me about the circumstances of my birth, the tale always included Zeus,” she settles on.

“Zeus liked intervening, and he liked getting credit,” Aphrodite huffs. “What your mother told you was only a partial lie. I alone heard her prayers, her suffering, and I begged Zeus to let me help. He allowed it. It was by his will, but by my hand. And then you were created, my beautiful daughter. The tale went how it went, but now needs to be set straight.”

Diana’s brow furrows. “But why are you here now? After all this time?”

“Because I can be,” Aphrodite replies simply, seemingly pleased that Diana has accepted her version of events, or at least not dismissed it entirely. “Make no mistake, my powers were sapped millennia ago, and then once more last century in an attempt to hold Ares at bay. I was incapable of making appearances in my corporeal form until very recently. You were my first housecall, dear one.”

Diana bends her head slightly in deference. She is not afraid of the goddess, per se, but sees no reason to make an enemy out of what is most likely a fickle being. “It is an honor.”

Aphrodite sighs. “No need for that, dear one. I came because you did what we could not, and defeated Ares. This is your thank you, even if it is a bit tardy.”

Diana tries again, unsure of exactly how to proceed. “There is no need to thank me. I did as I was born to do.”

“Yes, and no,” says Aphrodite with an air of ambivalence and mystery. “They call you the Godkiller, Diana, but your job was not to kill Ares. It was to protect humanity, to love them. Even in their imperfections. Which you have done, even when it was hard and messy.”

(Diana finds that she desperately wants this to be true, that there is something fundamentally absolving about this paradigm shift.)

“It is not about what they deserve, but what I believe,” says Diana, by way of explanation. She thinks of all it took to convince her of this, and the image of Steve rises unbidden, as it often does when she contemplates why she stays. (Her heart clenches and her throat closes, yet again, even a hundred years later. It has gotten easier, with time, but is still an open wound in her heart.)

“Yes, exactly, dear one. Which is why I am here. I have watched you struggle through a century of the worst that humanity has to offer, and I see how your heart hurts, and yet you believe. You love. So wholly and unreservedly, and the humans are all the better for it. And so I have a gift for you, for your enduring pain.”

It is tempting, intriguing, but Diana knows that gifts—particularly gifts from the gods—do not come without a price.

“Aphrodite, I cannot accept whatever it is you have to offer.”

“Nonsense, child. I know what you are thinking. But this comes from me, as your mother, and from me, as the Goddess of Love, not on high from Olympus. Not from Zeus." The meaning is clear, even if she doesn't say it aloud: I am no god. This gift is freely given, not bound by the strings of men. "I am only sorry I could not deliver it to you sooner; acquiring it took my last bit of power, and I assumed you would rather have it a bit late than never at all.”

“You are too generous,” Diana says warily, still mildly worried that there is a catch.

“And you are too kind. Chin up, dear; it's just about time for breakfast.”

With these perplexing words, Aphrodite begins to manifest, and a blinding light explodes across the rooftop, leaving Diana seeing spots for a few moments in the early Parisian light.

There's a cough from the ground, and Diana realizes that Aphrodite has left something in her wake. Blinking, Diana kneels down, trying to clear her vision, and almost chokes when the figure says, “Angel?”

Two more rapid blinks, and her eyes confirm what the voice she heard indicated: Steve Trevor—winded, confused, and still in a sooty German uniform, looking for all the world as though no time has passed—is on the ground before her.

Her first reaction is, anticlimactically, one of complete shock and immobilization, but then he takes a shuddering breath, and her instincts kick into overdrive, because he's here in front of her alive and breathing. (She's had this dream too many times to count, but she'll be damned if she doesn't make it worthwhile, even if it is just another gift from Hypnos.)

“Steve,” she breathes out, and then launches herself at him, wrapping him in a tight embrace, even in their awkward position on the ground.

It takes only half a beat for Steve’s arms to wrap around hers, and it's this action that finally convinces her that he's real and here, because her memory, sharp as it is, has never been able to accurately replicate the exact pressure of his arms around hers, has never faithfully recreated his exact scent or the warm roughness of his lips against her skin as his head tucks into her neck.

She hears someone sobbing, and realizes with a jolt that it's her, but can't seem to stop the flow of tears, even once it's registered.

And then Steve’s voice is in her ear again, soothing her, whispering soft words with little meaning, and telling her that he's there.

It's the fact that he sounds a bit befuddled, even as he does it, that finally forces her to pull herself together, because she's not the only one affected by Aphrodite’s actions.

Slowly, she pulls away just enough to lean her forehead against his, look into his eyes. (She still needs the tactile affirmation that he's here.)

“Diana?” he says slowly, “What happened? Ares?”

“Gone,” she says, and she can't help the upturn in her voice, the smile threatening to break out on her features, despite the seriousness of the situation. “What do you remember?”

His brow furrows. “I—I pulled the trigger, and then—nothing, save for a blinding light. How did you get to me in time? I should be dead—not that I'm not thankful that I'm not,” he adds.

Diana exhales slowly. “I did not save you,” she admits. “I could not. I was embroiled in battle with Ares. I—I watched your plane explode. I watched you die.” Her voice breaks, because the thought is still unbearable. It takes her a moment to recollect herself. “It was not me,” she repeats, “but Aphrodite. Apparently some of the gods are still alive. And she saved you, plucked you out in the moment before the explosion.”

“Well...that's neat,” says Steve, and she's missed him so much, missed his sincere comments that would sound sarcastic coming from anyone else so acutely, that hearing him now makes her erupt in a joyful laugh.

“Yes, it is very neat. And she brought you here to me, safe and sound and most certainly not exploded.”

“So Ares is defeated and the war is won?” Steve asks hopefully. “You did it?”

“We did,” she emphasizes. “But Steve, there was a bit of a problem.”

“There always seems to be,” he says. “Is there another megalomaniac god we have to stop?” His tone is joking; she can tell he's trying to lighten her mood. (It might work if she didn't have to tell him that he's a century removed from his time.)

“Aphrodite did not have the power to return you to me directly. She was only just able now, and...it has been more than one hundred years, Steve.”

“One hundred—please tell me you're pulling my leg, Diana.”

“I wish I could, Steve. But it has been a century,” she says softly.

“Well, that's slightly inconvenient,” Steve says, still aiming for a light tone, but Diana can tell he's rattled.

“I am so sorry, Steve. In typical godly fashion, Aphrodite did not consider how you might feel on the matter, and acted with her own agenda. She did not consider that death might be preferable to living outside one's time.”

“That—Diana, no. You may not have heard me, but I meant what I said on the runway: I wished we had more time, and now we do. Even if it's not in the ideal way. If you'll have me, that is,” he adds sheepishly, “since a century has passed.”

“Steve Trevor,” Diana says firmly, cupping his face in her hand. “I would like nothing more than more time with you. Did you—did you mean the last thing you said to me at the airfield?”

Steve exhales sharply. “I—Diana, of course I do.”

(His use of present tense doesn't escape her notice.)

“There is not a single day that goes by that I do not regret our parting,” says Diana, tears welling up in her eyes once more. “Because you went forward without knowing that you were loved. So I do not care if this is a hundred years overdue, or a few too early, but I love you too.”

(She knows it's foolish, has had a hundred years to wonder if she really did love him, if they even knew each other well enough for love, if she still loves him only because she's built his memory up. But he's here, and they have another chance, and she'll be damned if she doesn't say what she's feeling. On Themyscira, Diana wore her heart on her sleeve, but that isn't a good thing in Man’s World, and she's sick of hiding it. No, this is the time to turn a new leaf.)

Steve is clearly not unaffected by her words; emotion swirls across his face, and his eyes are glossy too, with his own unshed tears.

"Diana, I would very much like to kiss you, if that's alright."

It absolutely is, and she closes the distance slowly, reverently. Their lips meet, and it feels like coming home, a softness and sureness that feels indescribably right.

When they eventually pull apart, he looks at her in awe, like she is his salvation.

Normally, she would not like a man—anyone, really—to look at her this way, when she is just a person and not a benediction, but she finds that this time, with Steve, she doesn't mind. She just might be looking at Steve the same way.

***

Despite the fact that a hundred years have passed, for Steve, it has been only a few hours since the battle. Diana can see the exhaustion written across his face, and tells him to get some sleep.

“Diana—” he begins to protest, but she gives him a stern look, tells him that she'll wake him up for lunch, if he really wants. He nods, but allows himself to be led to her bed, which is still crumpled and unmade from earlier.

At his hesitation, she realizes that he probably feels too grimy from the battle, and leads him instead to the bathroom, where she quickly teaches him how to use her shower (and, as it happens, showers in general). She leaves him, collects her largest sleep-shirt and most-oversized sweatpants (which will still likely be a bit tight, but it's better than the remnants of the German uniform), and leaves those for him.

He falls asleep almost immediately, and she spends nearly half an hour just watching him: the expression on his face is peaceful, and he looks years younger than she’s ever seen him. It takes her almost as long to keep convincing herself that he's here, really here, and the rise and fall of his chest calms her.

Finally, she rouses herself, and calls into work, for which she isn't quite late yet, but will be shortly, and lets her secretary know that she won't be in for the day. (She hesitates, almost wants to say that she won't be in for the rest of the week, but decides against that. It would raise too many questions. Already, people will be shocked, because she rarely misses a day of work.)

She taps out a couple of emails, one to the interns, one to her secretary, and then, upon reflection, one to Bruce, because it's been a while since she's heard from him, and with Bruce, no news does not necessarily translate to being good news. For good measure, she even sends an email to Vic, because she enjoys his correspondence.

In the next two hours, Diana’s apartment becomes neater than it has in a while: her kitchen is spotless, her clutter in the sitting area straightened, her office organized and shelves dusted. Eventually, she moves on to actually preparing food (which speaks to her true inability to sit still, because she hates cooking with a passion, avoids it wherever possible).

She is flipping pancakes (because her pantry does not have adequate ingredients for any meal that is not breakfast), about to go wake up Steve, when she hears footsteps, and suddenly a pair of arms slips around her waist from behind, and a very sleepy Steve nuzzles the side of her neck, kisses it.

It makes her inhale sharply (it is, after all, exactly the kind of silly domestic thing she used to have dreams about, right after he died), and that pulls Steve out of his sleepy fog. He immediately jumps back.

“I'm so sorry, Diana,” he gasps.

“Steve, it's alright,” she reassures softly, putting the final pancake on the stack, and turning off the gas.

“No, Diana, I'm so sorry! I woke up and it felt like a wonderful dream and that's not an excuse b—”

“Steve,” she tried to cut him off, facing him properly now.

“—and I keep forgetting that it's been a hundred years for you—” he goes on frantically, before she finally manages to quiet him.

“Steve!” she snaps, and places her hands on his shoulders, so that she can make eye contact. “It does not bother me. Did our conversation this morning mean so little to you? I love you, and you need not feel strange about physical affection.”

His eyes darken at her words, and suddenly she is across the room, and their lips meet.

It is a good thing that she turned the gas off when she did, because they do not make it back to the kitchen for a while, the pancakes sitting in their stack, forgotten.

***

There is something warming, gratifying, soul-cleansing about being known so intimately. Sure, there are things Steve missed in the in-between, but it's easier to catch him up on those things than it would be to have to try to explain where she comes from, how she got to this world. Steve has seen her at her most idealistic, and also at her most disillusioned, and he loves her anyways. He's also easy to talk to in a way that most people aren't, and willing to listen in a way that most people won't.

As they lay in bed that evening, curled up together, she relishes it.

“The last time we were together, I thought I was made of clay, brought to life by Zeus’s hand," she tells him, still trying to make sense of it all. (It's possible that she's been using Steve's arrival to postpone a slight identity crisis, but then she realizes that she can share this with Steve.) "Then Ares told me Zeus had a hand in my birth the normal way. Now Aphrodite tells me the story about the clay was true, except it was by her hand. I am not entirely sure what to think anymore, Steve.”

“Well, isn't that just a Topsy-turvy sort of lineup,” Steve says by way of reply, apparently mulling it over. Before she can say anything else, however, he has something more to add. “I gotta say though, Diana. It seems to me that for all the flashy powers you have, it's your capacity to love that makes you strongest.”

It's such a Steve response. To casually distill something down to its essence, and make it seem like an accident. As if he hasn't just seen right through her.

"And I mean, the things you can do are truly spectacular! I don't mean to say they aren't. It's just that it's how you use them that really matters, and you use them because you're so full of love. Compassion. Kindness. Anyhow," he trails of, scrubs his hand against the back of neck awkwardly.

"No; thank you, I think you are right," she says, catching his hand. Then, "I want it to be her," she admits. "I want Aphrodite to be my godly parent. Is that bad?"

Steve considers for a moment. "My mythology is a little rusty, but I know better than to choose a Greek god out loud."

At this, Diana laughs. He's not wrong.

"But no," Steve says. "I don't think it's wrong. I can't think of a single myth where being Zeus's kid really worked out for someone."

"Steve!" she exclaims, but she's still laughing.

The conversation dies out soon after, and sleep follows not far behind.

***

On this day, the solstice, the darkest day of the year, Diana wakes alone, but falls asleep next to her love. Like the light of a bonfire in the darkness, like the merry twinkle of Christmas lights or the soft, resolute glow of Chanukah candles, like the promise of five extra minutes of sun, like the clean expanse of new beginnings, there is a little extra hope in the world, bright with possibility. The days will lengthen and with them their love, and they will finally have the time to find out what people do when there aren't wars to be fought.

#wondertrevsecretsanta #wondertrev #wondertrev fic #steve trevor x diana prince #diana prince x steve trevor #steve is alive #fic exchange #gift #wondertrevnet #mousedetective #my fic #my writing #diana prince #wonder woman #steve trevor #wtss2019 #i'm so extra but i'm done tagging now

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porkchop-ao3 · 5 years ago

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A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 25)

Partners Of Sorts

This is kind of an uneventful chapter, just a bunch of character interactions, but it needed to be there to explain certain things to reader, and to appreciate some of the other characters. I hope it hits a spot, though!

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

"Hey, Kieran. Can I borrow your brush again? The communal ones keep goin' walk-about."

I'd had a busy morning tending to the horses alongside Kieran; putting out fresh hay, cleaning up after them, maintaining the leather on everyone's saddle. We hadn't spoken much, I figured he was feeling awkward after catching a tender moment between Arthur and I the other morning, but when it came to brushing Rayna's dusty coat, the silence needed breaking.

Kieran eyed me cautiously, then glanced over his shoulder into camp. I quirked a brow, closing the large gap between us and looking at him expectantly.

"You ain't using it, are you?" I asked and he shook his head, hastily reaching into his bag and pulling out his brush, tossing it to me. I fumbled with it, but managed to catch it. "Thanks."

I walked back over to Rayna, making a start on brushing her down, starting at her neck. I glanced over at Kieran again, utterly puzzled by his behaviour. We never really chatted like good friends, but the silence was odd. At the very least, we'd throw back and forth mindless small talk about horses. I rather liked it.

"How's Maggie doing? I heard Lenny say she got a little scratched up on some branches," I called out to him.

"She's fine," he replied, leaving it at that. I let out a quiet breath and went back to tending to Rayna again for a while.

"The dust in this place is so clingy, ain't it? You brush it off and it settles right back in," I chuckled, trying again. A small humming sound was all I heard, then he was walking off, going towards The Count, Dutch's horse, who happened to be the furthest away from me of the bunch. I couldn't help but screw my face up a little. What was his problem?

I carried on working, brushing out Rayna's coat, getting her looking nice and shiny before untangling her mane and the hair around her hooves. It took me a little while, and I figured I'd earned a break and a drink, so headed over to Kieran to hand him his brush. When he noticed me approaching I saw him mutter something under his breath, and turn his head away a little, looking towards camp once again. I frowned.

"Here's your brush, Kieran. Thanks," I said, pushing it into his palm with more force than necessary. "Have I done something?"

"I'm sorry, Miss?" He looked back at me, eyes widening a little.

"Have I done something to offend you? You're barely answering me when I speak to you and you're acting all shady," I said, crossing my arms and cocking a hip.

"No, no, not at all. You ain't done nothin'," he assured me, holding his hands out and looking around.

"What? What is up with you, looking around like that?" I raised my voice a little out of frustration and he winced.

"Shh, shh, I'm sorry, I ain't aiming to upset you, Miss, I'm just…" he stopped, sighing and gulping down his nerves. "I just ain't sure it's a good idea, me being seen being friendly with you, is all."

"Huh? Why? Never bothered you before, all we do is chat," I shrugged, perplexed, a little offended, even.

"No, I know, that was before I knew you and- and Mr. Morgan were…" he didn't finish his sentence, voice fizzling out to nothing. I stared at him for a moment, expression vacant.

"What're you going on about?"

"All I'm saying is, I don't wanna make him mad!" He explained, face apologetic, body all jumpy and on edge.

"By talking to me."

"Yes!"

"Huh…" I huffed, clicking my tongue and looking down at the ground. "You're scared of Arthur?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes! I- I- I mean, no, not scared, I don't know! He ain't exactly my best buddy," he shook his head, sighing heavily, starting to brush The Count.

I stared at him for a while, then tutted.

"I don't appreciate you acting like I can't have friends, just 'cause me and Arthur are… the way we are," I muttered. "I'm my own person, you know?"

"Of course, sure, I don't mean anything bad. I'm just trying not to push any of his buttons, you understand, right?"

"Not really, Arthur's a nice guy, he ain't gonna hurt you," I said, gaining a disbelieving look. "What, you don't think that's the case?"

"I ain't saying anything," he shook his head and grumbled.

"Relax, O'Driscoll," I snorted, patting him on the shoulder. His eyes widened and he looked at me.

"Oh, not you too," he whined.

"What?" I frowned.

"With the O'Driscoll bullcrap," he explained, "I thought you were better than that."

"But that's your surname, ain't it?" I queried, dumbfounded by his reaction. Everyone called him 'O'Driscoll', just like everyone referred to Arthur as 'Morgan', and John as 'Marston'. Surely.

"No! It ain't my damn surname. Duffy. Kieran Duffy!" He spat, getting all het up.

"Alright! I didn't know! How was I to know? Everyone just calls you that!" I exclaimed, huffing out in annoyance. "Sorry."

"You really don't know why everyone calls me that?" He gave me a look, like I was stupid or something, and I got defensive.

"You know I ain't been here all that long. What, am I supposed to know everyone's life story automatically?"

"No, I just thought with you gettin' all snuggly with one of the head honchos 'round here, you'd know. The O'Driscolls is one of these folks' worst enemies. Another gang of outlaws. I ran with 'em for a while, well, more like got dragged along," he explained, stopping to take a drink from his canteen.

"So what'chu doing here?" I asked him in surprise.

"Your boyfriend captured me, brought me in. They all had me as some sort of prisoner, threatened to slice my nads off if I didn't lead 'em to Colm; the O'Driscoll leader. Long story short, I saved Arthur's hide and I've been staying with you folk ever since. Not like any of 'em wanna let me live it down, despite it all, though."

"You saved Arthur's life?" I breathed, looking at Kieran in a new light. He glanced at me, like it wasn't a big deal.

"I guess. I shot a guy who was about to paint his porch with his brains. Don't get much thanks for it, though," he shrugged.

"Well, thank you," I told him. He made a throaty, awkward sound and shook his head, turning away. "For what it's worth, I'll tell Arthur to be kinder to you."

"Oh God, don't. I don't need a woman fighting my battles for me. Uh, no offense. Not that you bein' a woman is–"

"Fine. I'll keep my mouth shut," I deadpanned, cutting off his bumbling sentence. "Thanks for filling me in, anyway."

"No problem," he shrugged.

"And Kieran? You ain't gotta avoid me. So… don't," I told him and he stared at me for a while before nodding. I smiled at him, then left to pour myself a coffee.

It was just the dregs left over in the pot, so I emptied it out and refilled it, brewing a fresh batch. I poured myself a mug and spotted Miss Grimshaw sitting by herself at the table. I wandered over, gauging her mood before I committed. She was sitting with her forehead in her hands and I frowned, taking the seat opposite her.

"You okay, Miss Grimshaw?" I tentatively asked. She lifted her head promptly.

"Oh! Yes, just fine, thank you darlin'," she answered, but her forehead was pinched. "Well, headache. But I can manage."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Need me to fetch you some water?"

"Bless you. No, I'm alright," she dismissed.

"Why don't you take your hair down? I find if I have mine up too long, I can get headaches," came my suggestion, to which she chuckled.

"After I spent time this morning putting it up? No chance," she smiled at me and I shrugged softly, looking down into my mug.

"Well then, if there's anything on your to-do list, let me know and I'll try and cross it off for you," I offered and she eyed me with suspicion.

"Alright, what is this?"

"Hmm?"

"You about to ask me for somethin'?"

"What? No! I'm just being friendly. You ain't feeling well," I told her, brow curving in mild offense at the assumption.

"Oh, well, alright then. When you've finished your coffee you can take a needle and thread to the boys' tent over there," she pointed over to the one closest to the campfire. "Micah put a hole in it last night, boozed up moron."

"Sure," I nodded, bringing my coffee to my lips. Susan glanced up over the top of my head at something and I heard footsteps.

"Mr. Morgan," she nodded politely in time for him to walk up beside our table.

"Susan," Arthur nodded back to her, then turned his attention on me. When our eyes met, he flashed me a little smile that reminded me of the night before and set my heart racing. ”My lady,” he addressed me, his tone a little playful.

I smiled widely, letting my eyes follow him even after he'd peeled his gaze from me to look where he was going. My eyes dropped to his backside of their own accord, and I was momentarily mesmerised by the way his hips moved as he strolled across to his tent. When I finally looked away, I turned to Susan to find her staring at me, full of amusement. I cleared my throat and drank some coffee, averting my eyes.

"You know, you two ain't as sly as you think you are," she said.

I made a confused humming sound, suddenly feeling flustered.

"You and Arthur. I've seen him staring at you from across the camp. I reckon you're just as bad, though I've caught him doing it many times, now," she informed me, and I gave her a wide eyed look. "Don't pretend you haven't noticed it."

"I haven't," I told her honestly and she gave a tinkly little laugh.

"Sitting together at meal times, spending nights alone together in old abandoned cabins, private little chats down by the lake. You don't think I was born yesterday, do you?" She questioned, and I merely stared at her with parted lips. "You two, you're gettin' to be like two peas in a pod. You'll end up sweet on one another, if it ain't already the case."

I looked down, pressing my lips together.

"You are, aren't you? My, my, I wasn't sure if it'd happened yet but I knew it was gonna. How long have you been loved up?"

I took a breath, considered my options. Try to deny it; to Susan Grimshaw? Not likely a successful move. Change the subject? Fat chance. I exhaled loudly.

"Not long," I finally said, and Susan made an excited little cheer, leaning over to pat my hand.

"I knew it," she was very pleased with herself and I looked her in the eye.

"Can you keep it quiet? We don't want the whole camp knowing just yet. Not that we've been all that lucky with that," I murmured.

"I ain't surprised," she laughed, "but I'll keep it to myself, don't you worry."

"Thanks, Miss Grimshaw," I said, smiling from across the table.

"I know the girls gossip. They were practically putting bets on who was gonna end up winning you over," she began, looking distractedly over at where Mary-Beth and Tilly were sitting by the lake, both sewing. "I heard John's name. Arthur's, obviously. Micah."

"Micah," I muttered, shaking my head in bewilderment.

"Even Javier's name came up."

"What? Christ, what do these women take me for? I spoke to Bill briefly this morning, what about him?" I snorted.

"Oh, don't mind them. This is exciting to 'em, you forget the rest of us barely leave camp. Ain't sure how you've managed to weasel yourself into leaving all the time, workin' with the men," she said, though it wasn't in the least bit malicious. "Besides beddin' one of 'em."

My mouth opened, and I was momentarily stunned by her words.

"I ain't bedded anyone, thank you very much," I crowed, loud enough that Pearson looked up from his hissing cauldron. I flushed and dipped my head.

"You ain't got there yet?" She drawled, loving every moment of making me squirm.

Luckily, a knight in a top hat and an outfit that could rival Dutch's for tricking one into believing the man wearing it wasn't running from the law, appeared beside us to save me. Josiah Trelawny, I had seen the man around camp a few times since Arthur and Charles had gone and saved him from bounty hunters, he'd looked a little worse for wear when he first arrived but he'd sharpened up a lot. He greeted me, calling my name and taking my hand in his and giving it a squeeze as he asked me how I was. He was very charming.

"My dear, Dutch told me all about you this morning; regarding the way in which you work. I hear you're a woman of a little showmanship, not dissimilar to myself. I find it's always helpful to create a narrative, get into character, put on a bit of the old charm," he said to me, taking a seat at the table next to Susan and I.

"I suppose you could say that," I chuckled.

"Yes, he had John tell me all about your little gemstone story, very nicely done, I must say. And your Jemima Jones performance? A woman after my own heart," he braced a hand on his chest and flashed me a handsome, moustachioed smile.

"Well, I'm better at playing pretend than I am waving a gun around, I gotta contribute in the ways I can," I shrugged my shoulders, flattered all the same.

"My dear lady, I was considering going out and finding myself a little work today. Might you join me?" He asked and I raised my brows.

"Oh, I mean, I have some chores here..." I told him, glancing at Susan who was rolling her fingers over her temples. I heard a loud sigh and heavy footfalls.

"Josiah, you ain't sinking your claws into her already, are you? What'chu planning? Send her into town dressed like the court jester, have her put on a show while you go through all the ladies' purses?" It was Arthur, of course. He hadn't strayed too far from me all day, aside from his short trip away from camp with Lenny. I'd heard they'd been out stealing guns.

"Arthur Morgan. Now here is a man of such limited creativity when it comes to these things. He could benefit from a little of our nature rubbing off onto him. Have the two of you worked together yet?"

"Not any big jobs," I admitted.

"No, but I know she's good at spinning the yarn, could give Dutch a run for his money," Arthur laughed, then waved a hand at me. "Which is funny, 'cause she's all shy until you stick an alias on her and tell her to spout some bull."

I lifted my shoulders sheepishly.

"I'd like to see you in action," Trelawny said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Both of you, together. See if we can't get Arthur showing a little finesse. What do you think?"

"Trelawny," Susan shot him a look, but he held his hand up to her in a polite pacification.

"I was thinking; a stagecoach," Trelawny added hopefully, looking between the three of us.

"No, no, absolutely not," Arthur was quick to respond, holding his hands up and shaking his head.

"I'm inclined to agree," Susan nodded.

"Why not?" Trelawny barked and I raised my brows.

"Stagecoaches… they go sour more often than anything," Arthur explained, frowning.

"And did you not hear her? The lady has chores to do. I'm not having another feller start stealing her away, I need her here today," Susan put her foot down, shaking her head.

"Oh, my darling Susan. Can't you spare her for an hour or two? A friend of mine can tip us off, find us something guaranteed to be worth the hassle. We could even cut you in," Trelawny flashed a persuasive smile at her. Susan pursed her lips in thought, but Arthur was having none of it, coming to lean his hands on the table in front of us all.

"Worth the hassle or not, the drivers are always armed to the teeth if there's valuables on board," Arthur scoffed, shaking his head. "I'll rob a stage with you, Trelawny, but she ain't coming," he gestured to me and I frowned.

"Have a little faith in the lady, won't you?" Trelawny sighed.

"Faith. Ain't about faith, friend, I got plenty of faith in this woman right here. She's shown she's capable of pulling off a job but this… this ain't it. It goes wrong and bullets start flying? She ain't got no business being in the middle of all that," he shook his head and surprisingly, I didn't feel slighted by his unwillingness to have me along. I was not prepared to do anything that could involve bullets.

"Well, that's a little dramatic, don't you think?" Trelawny huffed, cocking a brow at Arthur.

"I ain't being dramatic, I'm being responsible."

"May I speak? Considering it's me you're all talking about," I cocked a brow, "I'm sorry Mr. Trelawny, I don't wanna risk having to use a gun, an' all I got's a rifle," I shook my head and Arthur looked at me, pleasantly surprised by my compliance.

"That's what I thought. You're an excellent con-woman, but you ain't no killer," Arthur reached over and touched my arm, keeping his hand there and stroking it up and down. "I've robbed stages before, almost all of 'em turn into a bloodbath."

"Perhaps the way you do them, but fair enough, you've made your point. Come along, now, Arthur. We'll make do with the two of us. Let me introduce you to my good friend Alden," Trelawny said, waving his arms about as he rose to his feet and headed off towards his horse, expecting Arthur to follow. He looked a little disgruntled, but I was sure he'd get over it.

"Well then, I'm going to lie down for a little while," Susan said, getting up and gingerly hobbling off.

Arthur stayed with me for a moment and kept his eyes on me, a little concerned.

"I jus' wanna say, you know I ain't doubting you, or stopping you from doing this 'cause I think you can't handle it, right?" He said to me under his breath.

"No, but I can't handle it," I chuckled good-naturedly. Arthur shook his head.

"I jus' know you ain't like me, I don't wanna force you into something that might push you to doing… doing the shit I do that I ain't proud of. You're better than that," he whispered, leaning a little closer into my space, seeming to forget our surroundings. "You're good, and I wanna keep you that way."

"You say that like you ain't good yourself," I pointed out and he looked down at the table. I knew he was thinking exactly that and I made a frustrated little sound before patting his chest. "I believe you're a good man. Now, back up. People will talk."

"They're already talking," he said, straightening up anyway. There was a little smile on his face. "Hosea knows, by the way, just came out and asked me this morning. Nothing gets past him, the man knows me too well."

"Miss Grimshaw, too," I breathed and Arthur tutted, shoulders dropping a little.

"What's that, five, six people?"

"I ain't counting," I shrugged and laughed. He shook his head then brushed my cheek affectionately just once.

"I better not keep Trelawny waiting," he said.

"Okay," I nodded, craving a kiss but knowing I wouldn't get one, sitting in the middle of camp. "Be careful."

"Of course," he smiled, then walked backwards a few steps before finally turning around and jogging towards Jet.

With a gentle sigh I got up. I had a tent to fix and chores to do, and they'd keep me busy for the rest of the day.

Arthur never told me he was going to rob Valentine's bank. I didn't find out until it was all done and dusted and Karen was riding back into camp looking well and truly exhilarated, waving a wad of cash around. The others joined soon after, Bill and Lenny, but Arthur was the last to return after a little while. I would've panicked if Strauss hadn't reassured me that he was probably running an errand for him.

I didn't know why Arthur kept it quiet, and in fact, the more I thought about it the more I suspected that he'd gone out of his way to hide it from me. The whole day he'd kept me busy, giving me some money and asking me to go into Rhodes for him to pick up some things; mainly food for his horse, but also hair pomade, biscuits and gun oil. I'd done so without question, grabbing the opportunity to go into town since I'd been planning on it anyway. I bought myself a revolver while I was out with the money I'd saved from various jobs. I felt a little more secure with it hanging from my hip, since it just wasn't practical to carry around a rifle as my sole form of protection.

The day had seemed fairly ordinary when we woke up and had coffee together. He'd filled me in on how the stagecoach robbery had gone with Trelawny, and despite his worries it had gone off without any casualties. Still, he didn't regret having me stay away, these things were unpredictable. But then Karen had called him over, asking if he was ready, and that's when he'd sent me off into town before I could hear what was going on. Not that I was worried, or even all that eager to know. Arthur had been doing this a lot longer than I had, and it certainly wasn't my place to demand to know what he was doing at all hours of the day. I wouldn't've been mad about it, either.

Which was why it puzzled me that he didn't just tell me.

When he finally rolled back into camp, he headed straight for the money tin, depositing a wad of cash before heading down to the water's edge and lighting up a cigarette. I finished off what I was doing – washing some dishes – before heading over to him.

"Karen said you all had a good day today. Came away with a good amount," I started. Arthur jumped a little, looking at me in surprise with his cigarette hanging from his lips. He made a little humming sound in response. "I didn't know that's what you were up to today, I would've wished you luck, or somethin'."

"It's alright," he mumbled. I came to a stop by his side, looking out over the water with a soft smile on my lips.

"I left your things by your bed, got everything on your list," I told him, then reached into my satchel to pull out his leftover cash.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he replied, then noticed my outstretched hand. "You didn't pick up somethin' for yourself? I gave you a little extra in case you wanted to."

"No. Well, I did, but I paid for it. Got myself a gun, something a little less unwieldy," I giggled, taking his hand in mine and pushing the money into it. He stared at it for a moment, but didn't put it away.

"You should keep this, you did me a favour," he told me. I shrugged my shoulders and laughed, shaking my head.

"Arthur, I can do you favours without taking payment from time to time. You can just give me a few kisses later to say thanks."

"Alright, I shall. Maybe we'll take a walk later, you and me," his mouth curled and he pocketed the cash, nudging me with his shoulder.

"That'd be nice," I grinned.

"Show me this gun of yours," he suggested, gesturing to the new addition to my ensemble; a belt with a holster. I withdrew the weapon, carefully handing it to him. It was a Schofield revolver, standard model, I hadn't bothered with any upgrades or customisation. It'd be wasted on me, considering I was the kind to hope to never use the thing.

Arthur inspected the gun, turning it over in his hand, pointing it out ahead of him and looking down the sight. "You fired it yet?" He asked.

"Not yet."

And so, with a cheeky little smile from Arthur, we went around collecting empty glass bottles from around the camp. It wasn't hard, Uncle alone could provide us with a few, but other members of the gang chipped in too. Arthur took me out down the edge of the lake, not far from where we'd been the other night, and arranged the bottles up on a rocky part of the bank.

I stood a few steps away, loaded up my new gun and looked down the sight at an empty gin bottle. Arthur was sitting nearby watching me, legs dangling off the edge of a short drop down to where I was standing by the water's edge. I missed the first couple of shots, just as I expected, as I got used to the new weapon. Arthur cheered when I shattered the first bottle, and I took out a second one to make sure it wasn't a fluke. Satisfied, I lowered my arm and glanced at Arthur.

"Feels similar to my old one, it's good to have a sidearm again," I told him. Arthur nodded and looked down at the gun in my hand.

"I'm glad you got that, too. You got something small and good for protecting yourself," he said. "So you got a rifle, a bow, a sidearm. You're all stocked up, you ain't gonna run off now, are you?"

"You ain't serious," I scoffed, rolling my eyes then swinging my arm back up towards the bottles. I took aim, then blew out the remaining bottles one by one until there was nothing but shards of glass remaining. I holstered the gun after that, and turned back to Arthur to spot his raised brows, lips a pursed, surprised little circle. I snickered and trotted over to him, standing between his legs and resting my elbows on his knees. "I like you too much to run off."

His expression was soft and open as he gazed at me, like he was touched, yet lost in thought. I looked at him expectantly, but held my tongue.

"Christ, you're lovely," he told me under his breath, words soft yet still with the ability to jolt me and set my pulse soaring. "I really don't deserve you."

"Arthur," I sighed, tilting my head. "Why'd you say stuff like that?"

"'Cause I believe it to be the truth."

"Well, it ain't. I'll start thinking you're fishing for flattery, you keep on like that," I scolded, frowning at him. He chuckled a little.

"I ain't fishing for nothin'. I'm sorry, I'll try not to be a misery guts and just appreciate having you like this," he acquiesced, taking my face in both hands. His brow was a little creased and when he smiled, his eyes didn't get the memo.

"Are you alright?" I asked and he took a breath that moved his whole body, his eyes dropping down to my chest distractedly. He let go of my face, letting his hands rest on my shoulders instead.

"I had to do some work today that I've never liked doing," he admitted.

"The bank?"

"No, not that. Though I don't exactly feel like bragging about that one, either. It's why I never told you, I don't like rubbing your face in my work, it just makes me feel worse about… feeling like I ain't right for you."

"Don't say stuff like that, it worries me," I confessed, mouth turning down. I slid my hands up his thighs before wrapping my arms around his waist and leaning into his torso. He stroked his hands over the back of my head soothingly.

"Why's it worry you?"

"Makes it sound like you're gonna end things with me," I said honestly and Arthur went stiff for a moment before he carried on his movements.

"I ain't gonna do that, princess. I don't have that sort of self control," he assured me, then he must've tilted his head down because his voice sounded closer. "And just like you, I like you too much for that." He pecked the top of my head and my chest sang.

"That's good. I'm glad we're both as hopeless as each other," I mumbled into his shirt and he laughed, shaking me. "Tell me about this work, then."

"Collecting debts for Strauss. It's what had me all wound up when I came into camp that first day you were there, throwing my weight around, yellin' down the place. Remember that?"

"Of course," I told him, thinking about how I remembered every moment I'd spent with him since joining the gang. I doubted I'd forget anything.

"I went to get the rest of the money from Mrs. Downes, today. A widow. I never even got to confront the man himself for the money, he passed before I could. Strauss likes lending money to sick folk, it seems," he started, sighing loudly. "She and her son pulled no punches, let me know just what a sick man I was for doing what I do. They don't need to tell me, it's awful work. These people are desperate, they're having the worst time of their lives and we take advantage of that."

I didn't know what to say, I just kept my face buried in his chest and let him vent.

"I never have liked it. Seems to go against everything Dutch and the rest of us stand for. We ain't angels, but we take from folk who have too much. From folk who won't miss it. And we try and help those who need it, who've lost everything, people like Mrs. Adler."

"And me," I added.

"And you," he repeated, stroking his hand down the length of my hair again. "Mrs. Downes, she's lost everything, now. Her husband, her home. And I'm the face she puts it all to. It… it makes me sick to my stomach."

I straightened up, keeping my arms around him but looking up to see his face. He was looking off towards the camp. I was reminded of the fact that it was broad daylight, and begrudgingly removed myself from him and went to lift myself up onto the ledge beside him. Arthur helped me up when I struggled, offering his hands. When I was finally settled, I looked him in the eye.

"I'm sorry this sort of work is put on you. I know you ain't doing it out of choice."

"Sometimes, I gotta beat the money out'a folk. That's why he sends me, knows they'll be scared of me. I don't pretend to not see why, I ain't no saint, I like a good fist fight as much as the next lowlife criminal. But I don't enjoy handing out beatings to innocent people," Arthur averted his gaze, scratching a patch of dried mud on his jeans.

I thumbed a piece of hair away from his face, noting how long it was getting. I racked my brains for some sort of solution, but I wasn't blind to the position he was in. I'd noticed Arthur's role in the group very quickly, he was the go-to-guy, it seemed; the one everyone leaned on from time to time. Dutch sent him out far more than anyone else, others pulled him into other jobs here and there, it seemed like Arthur was never short of things to do. Or things expected of him, more accurately. He was dependable, loyal, skilled in practically everything an outlaw could hope to be skilled in, so it was obvious to see how he'd carved this position for himself. I'd never heard him deny anyone anything, either, he just got on with things. Mostly without complaint, too.

Arthur took my silence the wrong way. "I shouldn't be telling you all this, you don't need to hear about all my sins."

"What good am I if I can't lend an ear? We– we're partners, of sorts, ain't we?"

"Of sorts," he glanced up at me, the barest hint of a smile on his lips.

"I'm trying to think of something to say to you to make it all better. I can't just say, don't do it, because that's not how this works. I know."

"Your understanding means more to me than you can imagine," he told me through a tense breath, putting a hand on my knee.

"I don't think less of you for the things you do for this gang, please know that," I whispered to him, covering his hand with my own.

"You probably should, but I won't look a gift horse in the mouth," he chuckled.

A crunching of gravelly, sandy terrain alerted us that we were not alone. We looked up to see John approaching us, jerking a thumb over his shoulder towards camp.

"Lover boy, Dutch sent me out to get you. He wants to talk to you, apparently Pearson reckons we can end this feud with Colm O'Driscoll once and for all."

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